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The 

Balance  of  Pow^er 

A  Novel 


ArtKtir  Goodrich 

Illtistrated  by  Otto  Toaspern 


New  YorK 

TKe  Outing  Pt&blisHin^  Company 

1906 


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COPTBIGHT,  1906,  BT 

THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Sntered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 


All  rights  re$erved 


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THB  OTJTINO  PRE88 
DEPOSIT,  N.  T. 


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^0  Mv  Jfatfier 

WHO    HAS  ALWAYS  BEEN,  AS  WELL, 
MY    FRIEND  AND   COMRADE 


M209356 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I    The  Garden  of  Memories 


PAGE 
1 

13 


II  The  President  Blacks  His  Own  Shoes 

in  "If  Ye  Git  Hot   Under  the  Collar,  Take   It 

Off"     ........     29 

IV  The  Enthusiasms  of  Jimmy  O'Rourkb  .         .     50 

V  The  Drowning  of  a  Disappointment  .         .         .66 

VI  At  Mr.  Hardy's 88 

VII  The  Beginnings  of  a  Cabinet     ....  105 

VIII  Independence  Day       ......  122 

IX  The  Colonel  Makes  a  Speech     .         .         .         .142 

X  A  Three-cornered  Fight     .....  155 

XI  An  Unexpected  Conference        ....  175 

XII  Later  in  the  Evening         .....  193 

XIII  Miss  Hardy  Goes  Calling 209 

XIV  The  Colonel  Loses  His  Temper          .         .         .  223 
XV  The  Summons 242 

XVI  The  Appearance  of  Mr,  Conlin  .         .         .  264 

XVII  To  Drive  Dull  Care  Away         .         .         .         .280 

XVIII  A  Drive  to  Westbury 308 

XIX  The  Brick  Block  Loses  a  Tenant      .         .         .  329 

XX  The  Colonel  Reasons  with  Mb.  Tubb         .         .  342 

XXI  In  the  Old  Garden     .         .         .         .         .         .366 

XXII  Thanksgiving  Day 395 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Now  she  returned  to  the  edge  of  the  cHff'*    .         Frontispiece 

FACINa 
PAGE 

"'The   President  of   the   United    States    blacks   his   own 

shoes'" 16 


(( < 


Run  along  now,  Jack,  and  boss  your  machines,  but  don't 

try  to  boss  me'  " 76 

"The  Colonel  makes  a  speech" 148 

"  T  stole  'em,'  he  said  at  last" 284 

"'You're  morbid,'  was  all  she  said" 318 

"With   an   exclamation  of  triumph   HeflBer  held   up   the 

wrinkled  piece  of  paper" 338 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWER 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

THE  settlers  of  Hampstead,  Connecticut,  stopped 
half  way  up  the  red-soiled  incline  which  sepa- 
rates beyond  into  two  broad  summits.  The 
town  grew  up  the  rest  of  the  way,  unsatisfied  until  it 
reached  the  top,  first  of  West  Hill  and  later  of  the  lower 
East  Hill.  The  factories  took  the  only  place  left,  the 
lower  half  of  the  incline  at  the  bottom  of  which  runs 
Hampstead  River,  deep  and  narrow,  evidently  planned 
to  furnish  power  for  mill-wheels. 

High  on  the  summit  of  West  Hill,  where  even  in  the 
early  eighties  the  factory  owners  and  officers  and  the  pro- 
fessional people  lived  and  looked  down  upon  the  workers 
in  the  shops  whose  frame  houses  dotted  thickly  the  east- 
em  summit,  were  two  houses  side  by  side,  of  which  the 
owners  were  proud  and  the  rest  of  the  town  envious. 
One  was  built  of  irregular  gray  stone,  square  and  strong; 
over  its  front  and  sides  crept  thick  ivy  which  turned  a 
wonderful  red  in  the  autumn;  before  it  spread  a  broad 
trim  lawn  shaded  with  big  trees  and  bordered  with  a  high 
hedge,  and  behind  it  stretched  terrace  after  terrace  of 
orchard  and  garden.     The  other  was  obviously  new,  an 

1 


2  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

expensive  mongrel  structure  of  brownstone,  brick  and 
wood,  culminating  in  a  tower  which  was  the  wonder  of 
the  town.  The  ground  which  ran  from  the  porch  to  the 
street  was  spotted  with  new  grass  and  old  turf,  and  the 
short  yard  at  the  back  was  still  in  straggling  confusion. 

Many  people  came  to  the  stone  house  daily,  for  Doctor 
Gilbert  lived  there — quick,  nervous,  kindly  Doctor  Gilbert 
whom  the  well-to-do  respected  and  liked  and  the  poorer 
people  loved.  Wealthy  as  he  was — for  his  father  had  left 
him  not  only  the  big  gray  house  and  broad  acres  of  land 
but  a  considerable  fortune  as  well,  made  in  trade  with  the 
West  Indies — there  was  never  a  sick  child  so  far  away,  nor 
a  night  so  cold,  nor  a  simple  kindness  so  slight  that  the 
Doctor  was  not  ready  at  the  call  for  help.  Impractical 
fine  gentleman  of  the  old  school!  Many  a  sick  German 
woman  in  a  cottage  on  East  Hill  had  slept  for  the  first 
time  in  a  week  of  nights  while  the  big  man  hummed  Schu- 
bert songs  in  his  mellow  baritone;  many  a  miserable  little 
Irish  lad  chilled  in  a  shanty,  the  cracks  of  which  yawned 
invitation  to  snow  and  winter  cold,  bolted  bitter  medicine 
so  as  to  hear  the  merry  gentleman  tell  stories  of  the 
Civil  War  or  of  that  strange  and  wonderful  court  of  King 
Arthur;  many  an  ailing  clerk  or  bookkeeper  laughed  him- 
self well  at  the  Doctor's  quaint  wit,  and  poverty-bound 
fathers  blessed  him  with  tears  in  their  eyes  as  they  watched 
their  children  eating  unexpected  Christmas  dinners. 

He  was  as  tender  as  a  woman,  and  yet  strong  men  had 
hung  their  heads  before  the  tempest  of  his  anger.  As  a 
young  man  he  had  seen  visions,  some  of  which  he  had 
realized  and  many  of  which  he  had  forgotten.  Now  he 
dreamed  dreams.    They  were  all  about  a  boy  with  tawny 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


locks  who  often  sat  wide  eyed  on  a  hassock  before  the 
big  fireplace  in  the  library  listening  to  the  rambling 
reminiscences  of  bluff  Colonel  Mead,  who  had  fought 
Indians  on  the  plains,  or  to  the  Doctor's  own  stories, 
perennially  new.  He  planned  the  boy's  future  a  dozen 
times  every  day,  and  when  his  wife  with  characteristic 
Scotch  practicality  started  him  awake  with  a  short  bit  of 
worldly  common-sense,  he  only  smiled  and  went  back  to 
his  dreaming. 

Neighbors  saw  little  in  the  boy  to  account  for  the 
Doctor's  pride.  He  was  a  gawky  lad,  tall  for  his  age,  and 
his  large  nose  and  ears  and  chin  forbade  even  the  Doctor 
to  call  him  handsome.  And  yet,  when  he  smiled  there 
was  something  about  the  gray  eyes  and  the  twist  of  the 
mouth  that  wholly  satisfied  those  who  loved  him.  He  had 
a  queer  little  mind  that  would  focus  itself  to  only  one 
thing  at  a  time  and  which  would  not  listen  to  anything 
else  until  this  one  thing  was  settled  conclusively. 

"  Ef  ye  want  a  thing,  no  matter  what  it  is,"  the  Colonel 
once  remarked  approvingly  of  the  boy's  persistence, 
"yeVe  got  to  go  after  it  an'  stay  after  it  till  ye  git  it. 
Jack's  got  the  right  idea.  Jest  wantin'  never  brought 
any  thin',  so  far  ez  I  know,  but  want." 

Mr.  Hardy,  the  man  who  had  built  the  house  next 
door,  was  a  man  of  early  middle  age.  His  father  had 
started  the  now  famous  mills  of  Hardy  &  Son,  when 
Hardy  after  a  hurried  schooling  had  joined  him.  Much 
of  their  success  had  been  due  to  the  younger  man  who  by 
strict  economy  and  relentless  energy  had  built  up  the 
factories  to  their  present  size,  the  largest  in  Hampstead. 
Although  he  was  now  president  of  the  company,  Hardy's 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


front  door  opened  punctually  every  morning  at  half-past 
seven  and  closed  behind  him  at  quarter-past  six  at  night, 
a  phenomenon  which  interested  greatly  the  mathematical 
mind  of  the  Doctor's  boy. 

The  Hardys  had  occupied  their  new  home  only  two  or 
three  days  on  an  afternoon  when  the  Doctor's  boy  was 
playing  croquet  on  the  second  terrace.  All  at  once  the 
boy  instinctively  straightened  himself  from  a  regrettable 
"flinch"  and  turned  slowly  about.  The  delightful  sense 
of  being  alone  with  his  little  dream  world  had  for  some 
reason  vanished. 

Standing  in  a  narrow  gap  in  the  hedge,  surrounded  by 
the  fresh  green,  was  a  strange  little  figure  of  a  girl  and, 
behind  her,  a  boy  somewhat  larger  than  Jack. 

"Hello,  boy,"  said  the  girl. 

"Hello,"  said  Jack  cordially,  after  a  moment's  inspec- 
tion of  the  pair.  "Come  on  in."  The  girl  advanced 
slowly  and  shyly,  hugging  a  small  decapitated  doll.  The 
boy  with  her  marched  briskly  forward  and  then,  suddenly, 
with  a  proud  wave  of  his  hand,  he  stood  on  his  head  for 
a  few  seconds,  by  way  of  introduction. 

The  girl  meanwhile  had  propped  her  headless  doll  on  a 
seat  that  surrounded  a  broad-trunked  apple  tree,  and 
looked  about  her.  The  place  was  a  fairy  land  to  her  and 
she  sighed  with  delight.  She  looked  with  awe  at  the  boy 
who  lived  and  who  actually  played  croquet  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  wonder. 

"Can  I  look  at  the  roses?"  she  asked,  pointing  to  the 
rows  of  bushes  beyond. 

"Of  course,"  said  Jack  readily.  "And  I'll  show  'em 
to  you." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


**0h,  come  on/'  said  the  strange  boy.  "I'll  wrestle 
you  or  I'll  beat  you  to  the  fence  and  back  or '' 

"We'll  do  that  afterwards,"  Jack's  tone  was  decisive, 
"after  we  see  the  flowers,"  and  he  started  after  the 
girl. 

"Oh,  you're  afraid,  you  are,"  taunted  the  other  boy. 
"Look  at  this,"  and  he  turned  two  or  three  handsprings 
on  the  grass.  To  the  evident  joy  of  the  flushed  lad,  the 
girl  turned  from  the  roses  in  time  to  see  the  last  rapid 
turn.  Jack  watched  quietly,  his  fists  doubling  convul- 
sively. Then  he  followed  the  girl.  "You'd  better  come 
along,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder.  And  the  boy  reluc- 
tantly followed,  turning  cartwheels  and  handsprings  on 
the  way.  Jack  led  them  past  tangled  masses  of  roses, 
beds  of  vari-colored  pansies  and  arbors  of  honeysuckle, 
and,  beyond  a  sentinel  apple  tree,  through  the  lanes  of  a 
small  produce  garden.  Back  of  this  truck  garden  was  a 
line  of  trees  and  bushes  that  surrounded  a  little  clearing, 
in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  frame  summer-house,  and  to 
this  they  finally  came  and  sat  down.  The  little  girl  had 
not  said  a  word,  and  she  sat  still  for  a  moment. 

"I'd  like  to  live  here,"  she  said  at  last  enviously. 

"Oh,  I  know  lots  of  better  places,"  the  strange  boy  re- 
marked quickly,  looking  jealously  from  one  to  the  other. 

Jack  glowered  silently.  Then  he  turned  to  the  girl  with 
a  new  interest. 

"  So  do  I.  I'd  like  to  go  out  West.  Say,"  he  went  on, 
suddenly  growing  alert,  "do  you  know  Colonel  Mead? 
He's  fought  real  Indians." 

The  strange  boy  noticed  that  the  girl  was  watching 
Jack  with  open  admiration. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"Colonel  Mead?"  he  broke  in  sullenly,  eager  for  trouble. 
"He's  an  awful  old  liar  anyhow.     I  heard " 

Jack's  face  suddenly  turned  white  and  his  gray  eyes 
burned  black.  His  small  fists  doubled  up  and  he  jumped 
to  his  feet. 

"You  take  that  back,"  he  cried. 

"I  won't,"  said  the  large  boy,  dodging  out  on  the  turf 
and  pulling  off  his  coat.  Almost  before  he  was  ready 
Jack  was  on  him  like  a  pent-up  hurricane,  and  they  were 
fighting  furiously.  For  a  moment  the  girl  watched  them, 
fascinated.  Then  she  jumped  up  quickly  and  ran  out  of 
the  summer-house  past  the  clinching,  fighting,  panting 
pair,  and  straight  down  the  path  they  had  come. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  sitting  placidly  sewing  in  the  library 
when  Ellen  opened  the  door  and  let  in  a  slender,  sobbing, 
breathless  little  figure. 

"Well,  well,"  ejaculated  motherly  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "what- 
ever is  the  matter  with  the  lassie?"  and  she  put  her  sew- 
ing quickly  aside. 

"Oh, come  quick,  please,"  panted  the  girl;  "your  little 
boy  and  Willie  McNish  are  fighting  out  in  your  garden. 
I  lost  my  way  and  I'm  afraid  they'll  both  be  killed  and — 
and  Willie's  the  biggest." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  a  large  but  very  active  woman.  Almost 
before  the  girl  knew  it  they  were  down  the  long  stairs  that 
led  to  the  garden,  and  were  hurrying  along  the  shortest 
path  to  the  summer-house.  By  the  time  they  passed 
the  roses  the  tired  girl  was  lagging  far  behind.  When 
Mrs.  Gilbert  reached  the  edge  of  the  little  clearing  she 
stopped  suddenly.  There  before  her  was  Jack,  one  eye 
already  swollen,  helping  the  other  boy  to  his  feet  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


wiping  the  blood  from  his  nose  and  from  a  nasty  cut  in 
his  cheek.  Mrs.  Gilbert  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
waited. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Jack,  and  his  little  form  was 
trembling  with  reaction.  "  I  shouldn't  have  hit  you  here 
in  our  yard,  but  you  made  me  mad." 

The  other  boy  nodded,  then  he  put  out  his  hand.  "  Say," 
he  said,  "I  thought  you  were  a  sissy,  but  you  aren't. 
You're  all  right."     And  they  shook  hands  manfully. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Gilbert,  seeing  the  little  girl  coming, 
broke  in.  "Laddie,"  she  said,  coming  upon  them  ab- 
ruptly, "I'll  take  Willie  to  the  house  and  stop  that 
wretched  bleeding,  and  you  take  the  little  girl  to  her 
home." 

That  was  all  she  said,  except  to  thank  the  little  girl  and 
to  ask  her  to  come  and  see  her.  But  on  the  way  to  the 
house  she  asked  the  McNish  boy  about  it  in  her  kindly 
way,  and  the  boy  told  her  frankly  everything.  Mean- 
while the  girl  and  Jack,  one  eye  already  turning  black, 
followed  them  down  the  path. 

The  girl  rescued  her  doll  from  the  bench  and  they  went 
on  to  the  hole  in  the  hedge. 

"  My  name's  Clare,  and  I  live  in  here."  She  pointed  to 
the  new  Hardy  house. 

"  My  name's  Jack,"  said  the  boy. 

"I  like  your  yard,"  said  the  girl  judicially,  "but  your 
house  isn't  as  nice  as  ours.     Good-by." 

That  night  when  Jack  had  gone  to  bed  early  with  a 
bandage  over  his  ugly  black  eye,  the  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Gilbert  sat  in  the  library.  The  Doctor's  eyes  seemed 
fixed  on  an  old  and  favorite  copy  of  Horace,  and  his 


8  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

wife's  seemed  to  be  unraveling  some  of  the  tangles  of 
yarn  she  was  knitting.  Now  and  then  each  glanced 
furtively  at  the  other  and  then  quickly  back  to  book 
and  task.  At  last  their  eyes  met  and  each  stood  dis- 
covered. Mrs.  Gilbert  shook  her  head  at  him  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

"There  must  be  a  deal  of  reading  on  that  one  page, 
David/'  she  said.  ''You've  been  reading  it  for  an  hour 
or  more." 

"I  thought  you  were  asleep,  you  worked  so  slowly," 
laughed  the  Doctor. 

"Well,"  said  his  wife  after  a  moment. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it  again,"  said  the  Doctor  capitu- 
lating. 

So  she  told  the  story  of  the  fight  over  again  for  the 
third  time,  losing  not  one  detail. 

"The  other  lad's  a  good  one,  too,"  she  said  at  the  end, 
with  a  characteristic  sense  of  justice. 

"The  only  thing  Jack  said  to  me,"  said  the  Doctor 
proudly,  "  was  that  he'd  do  it  again,  and  that  McNish's 
boy  fought  well.     He's  got  a  Gilbert  temper." 

"It  may  have  been  a  Gilbert  temper  but  they  were 
Mackenzie  blows  he  struck,"  said  his  wife.  "I  saw  the 
other  boy's  face." 

"I  believe  you're  proud  of  it,"  laughed  the  Doctor. 

"I'm  glad  you  haven't  spoiled  him  yet,"  retorted  his 
wife. 

"You're  a  great  and  good  woman,  Janie,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "I'm  going  to  give  him  money  and  education 
enough  to  make  him  rich  and  famous." 

"  But  who'll  make  him  happy?  "  asked  his  wife  wistfully. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  9 

The  Doctor  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  around  the  table 
to  her.     He  kissed  her  brow  reverently. 

'*To  have  such  a  mother  is  sufficient,  dear,"  he  said. 

As  time  went  on  the  three  children  grew  more  and  more 
inseparable.  Genial  Mr.  McNish  soon  came  almost  as 
often  as  did  Billy,  and  many  an  evening  during  the  win- 
ter that  followed,  when  patients  would  let  him,  the 
Doctor  played  cards  till  bedtime  with  McNish  and  the 
Colonel.  Mrs.  Gilbert  alternated  her  time  between  the 
home  and  the  church,  busy  always.  The  two  boys  and 
the  girl  studied  and  played  happily  enough.  Clare's 
nurse  was  their  only  menace.  One  day  when  the  girl  had 
been  rudely  summoned  away  from  the  garden,  the  two 
boys  followed  her  belligerently  to  the  gap  in  the  hedge. 

"We'll  take  care  of  her  when  we  grow  up,"  said  Jack 
sternly,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"You  bet  we  will,"  said  Billy,  shaking  the  hand 
solemnly. 

The  usual  number  of  people  were  sick  and  needed  the 
Doctor,  and  yet  things  seemed  somehow  different  with 
him.  He  had  a  new  habit  of  always  getting  a  New  York 
paper  as  early  as  possible,  and  spending  an  hour  or  more 
poring  over  it.  He  grew  absent-minded  and  occasionally 
seemed  almost  depressed.  No  one  had  ever  heard  him 
sigh  until  that  winter,  but  when  Mrs.  Gilbert  rallied  him 
about  it  he  laughed  his  old  laugh  and  said  that  it  was  a 
sigh  of  sheer  joy.  Nevertheless  he  aged  rapidly,  month 
by  month,  and  sometimes  sat  strangely  silent  through 
whole  evenings  before  the  library  fire.  But  he  was  never 
more  thoughtful  of  his  wife  nor  more  tender  with  Jack. 
One  night  when  the  Spring  was  coming  on  and  he  sat  by 


10  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

the  window  with  the  boy,  watching  the  rivulets  from  the 
melting  snow  that  ran  down  the  garden  paths,  he  patted 
Jack  lightly  on  the  back. 

"When  you  grow  up  you'll  be  a  big  man,"  he  said, 
"and  you'll  take  good  care  of  the  mither,  eh.  Jack?" 

"I'll  help  you,  of  course,"  said  Jack  slowly,  "but  you 
see  I've  promised  Billy  I'd  help  him  take  care  of  Clare." 

"When  Jack  is  a  big  man,"  laughed  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who 
had  come  up  behind  them,  "you  and  I,  David,  will  be 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  ourselves,  and  he'll  go  out  into 
the  big  world." 

"Out  in  the  big  world,"  .said  Jack  wistfully.  "I'd 
like  to  go  out  in  the  big  world." 

"And  after  he  got  there,"  went  on  Mrs.  Gilbert  softly, 
"he'd  come  back  again  because  he'd  want  love  more  than 
anything  in  the  big  world." 

"And  isn't  there  love  in  the  big  world?"  asked  the  boy 
wonderingly. 

"Not  the  same  sort  of  love,  laddie,"  said  his  mother; 
and  Jack  looked  from  his  mother  to  his  father  and  back 
again,  and  nearly  understood. 

When  Decoration  Day  came  the  Doctor  put  on  his 
G.  A.  R.  badge  and  tramped  down  town  with  Mr.  Mc- 
Nish. 

"The  Spring's  going  to  put  you  to  rights,"  said  his 
friend,  as  he  thought  he  noticed  that  the  Doctor's  step 
was  lighter  and  that  his  cheeks  had  more  color.  "  You've 
been  a  bit  down  this  Winter,  just  as  Tom  Nelson  always 
was  just  before  a  battle.  He  was  always  all  right  when 
the  fight  began." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  the  Doctor.    "  To  tell  you  the  truth 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  11 

I've  been  worried.  I've  been  trying  to  make  money 
this  year  to  lay  up  for  the  boy,  and  I'm  afraid " 

McNish  stopped  suddenly.  There  was  real  pain  in  his 
face.     He  waited. 

''I've  lost  a  good  deal  in  stocks  during  the  winter," 
went  on  the  Doctor,  "and  I've  been  trying  to  win  it  back 
in  a  mine  out  in  Colorado,  but  I'm  afraid — I'm  not  much 
of  a  business  man,  Donald." 

A  band  in  the  distance  started  up  "Tenting  To-night 
on  the  Old  Camp  Ground,"  and  memories  suddenly 
flooded  the  minds  and  hearts  of  both  men.  The  old 
familiar  strains  thrilled  them  silent,  and  they  locked  arms 
and  walked  on  hurriedly  down  the  street.  They  were 
late,  but  they  stopped  for  mail  at  the  post-office  and  then 
rushed  on,  crowding  the  letters  into  their  pockets.  As 
they  fell  into  line,  for  the  Doctor  insisted  on  marching 
with  the  rest,  McNish  said,  putting  his  hand  on  the  Doc- 
tor's shoulder,  "  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it  to-night," 
and  the  Doctor  nodded. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  and  Jack  watched  them  march  by,  and 
Jack  and  the  Doctor  saluted  solemnly.  Ten  minutes 
later  Doctor  Gilbert  left  the  line  to  stop  at  a  house  oppo- 
site the  gate  of  the  cemetery,  where  a  child  was  sick.  The 
little  girl  had  not  been  sleeping  and  he  gave  her  some 
medicine.  He  decided  to  wait  a  few  minutes  to  see  how 
it  operated  and,  because  the  mother  had  left  the  room,  he 
pulled  out  his  letters.  He  started  to  read;  suddenly  his 
face  went  white,  and  without  a  murmur  his  big  form 
relaxed  and  he  sank  to  the  floor. 

Over  in  the  cemetery  a  bugle  played  "taps"  for  the 
weary  soldiers  who  were  tenting  on  the  old  camp  ground. 


12  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

''The  Doctor's  big,  tender  heart,"  said  Moriarty,  Har- 
dy's superintendent,  that  night,  "had  been  working  so 
hard  all  his  life  that  it  plumb  gave  out." 

That  afternoon  a  boy  and  a  girl  were  sitting  looking  out 
at  the  gathering  twilight  from  a  rear  window  of  the  Hardy 
house.  Jack  had  been  taken  over  there  to  get  him  out 
of  the  way  of  it  all. 

"Let's  go  out  in  the  garden,"  he  said  at  last,  and  to- 
gether they  stole  out  and  through  the  gap  in  the  hedge. 
There  were  lights  upstairs  in  the  stone  house,  but  below 
a  single  dim  glimmer  in  the  library. 

"God's  bigger  out  here,"  he  said  in  an  awed  voice. 

The  little  girl  put  her  hand  over  his. 

"It's  getting  dark  and  I'm  afraid,"  she  said. 

"So'm  I — a  little,"  admitted  the  boy.  Then  suddenly 
a  new  thought  came  to  him.  "  If  father  was  here  I  think 
he'd  tell  me  to  take  care  of  the  mither,"  he  said  impul- 
sively, and  with  that  he  started  for  the  house.  The  girl 
watched  him  for  a  moment  and  then  sped  toward  the  gap 
in  the  hedge.     From  there  she  saw  him  mount  the  steps. 

Mrs.  Gilbert,  dry-eyed,  sitting  alone  in  the  darkened 
library  saw  the  boy  come  across  the  room  toward  her. 

"I've  come  to  take  care  of  you,  mither,"  he  said  stal- 
wartly. 

"Oh,  my  laddie,  my  laddie,"  she  cried,  as  the  pent-up 
tears  burst  forth.  She  knew  already  how  soon  she  would 
need  his  care. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE   PRESIDENT   BLACKS   HIS   OWN   SHOES 

THE  doors  of  the  new  Municipal  building  slammed 
now  and  then  as  if  to  awaken  the  drowsy  Main 
Street  of  Hampstead.  It  was  Spring  once  more, 
but  twenty  years  had  passed  since  Dr.  Gilbert  died, 
twenty  long  years  for  the  young,  twenty  short  years  for 
the  older  people  of  the  now  thriving  city.  It  was  Wednes- 
day night,  and  the  stores  were  closed  and  dark,  except 
for  an  occasional  red  or  green  light  that  marked  a  drug- 
gist ^s  long  vigil,  and  except  for  the  inviting  entrance  of 
the  Hampstead  Hotel,  flanked  by  a  flaring  glare  of  bril- 
liancy. The  few  people  who  strolled  aimlessly  up  and 
down  the  sidewalk  had  wandered  in  to  the  center  in 
search  of  something  to  do,  and  were  disappointed. 

Shortly  a  cart  was  driven  up  beside  the  dilapidated 
bandstand  at  the  end  of  the  green  opposite  the  Municipal 
building.  The  horse  was  unhitched  and  was  led  away, 
while  the  man  left  in  the  derelict  cart  lit  two  campaign 
torches  and,  fixing  them  securely  in  opposite  corners  of 
his  improvised  stage,  he  stood  forth  for  a  moment,  his 
fingers  thrust  in  his  tightly  buttoned  coat  of  clerical  cut, 
that  all  might  see.  He  had  a  square,  dumpy  body  and 
crooked  legs  about  which  soiled  gray  trousers  wrinkled 
from  the  end  of  his  short  coat  to  their  tattered  bottoms. 
His  coarse,  pudgy  face  which  had  been  clean-shaven  some 

13 


14  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

three  days  before,  beamed  with  an  odd  mixture  of  child- 
like good  humor  and  pompous  pride  upon  the  dozen  boys 
who  had  gathered  silently  about  the  cart.  A  moment 
later  he  was  sitting  on  a  campstool  picking  at  a  banjo, 
and  reciting  in  a  megaphonic  baritone  the  trials  of  a  man 
and  a  maid 

"A  suckin'  cider  throo  a  straw." 

Almost  instantly  a  large  and  constantly  growing  crowd 
surrounded  him,  coming  it  seemed  out  of  nowhere  from 
every  direction:  loafers  from  the  post-ofSce  steps,  travel- 
ing men  from  the  hotel,  couples  from  the  park  benches, 
and  all  the  floating  population  which,  blocks  away,  heard 
the  shouted  melody.  Windows  went  up  in  the  buildings 
about  the  square,  and  curious  faces  peered  out,  and 
across  the  way  in  the  Municipal  building  the  first  arrivals 
at  the  regular  meeting  of  the  Common  Council  crowded 
each  other  to  stare  down  at  the  little  man  with  the  big 
voice. 

"  Say,  'tis  a  good  thing  for  the  telephone  company  that 
there  ain't  many  voices  loike  that  wan,"  remarked  Mr. 
Moriarty.  "  Sure  all  he  needs  to  do  is  to  open  the  window 
an'  talk.  The  feller  at  the  other  end  o'  the  wire'd  hear 
him  all  right." 

"A  suckin'  cider  throo  a  straw-aw-aw-aw,"  sang  the 
little  man,  his  mouth  excavating  his  face  from  ear  to  ear. 
The  crowd  grinned  and  a  few  mouths  yawned  wide  in 
unconscious  imitation. 

As  the  song  was  finished  a  large  automobile  came 
noisily  down  the  street  and  stopped  at  the  curb.  An 
elderly  man  with  a  red,  scowling  face  alighted,  followed 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  15 

by  two  middle-aged  women  whose  angular  lines  suggested 
propriety  and  loneliness,  and  a  young  girl  who,  disre- 
garding a  proffered  hand,  sprang  down  unaided.  The 
three  women  turned  to  watch  the  scene  in  the  square. 

"Isn't  it  picturesque?"  said  Miss  Snifkins'  friend  from 
Boston,  whose  voice  dropped  at  the  end  of  a  sentence  in  an 
incline  down  which  sentimentality  oozed  audibly.  '^  See, 
Cordelia,  the  city  square,  the  lights  of  torches  lighting  up 
a  sea  of  faces  and  there  in  the  center  that  figure  which  is 
to  say  the  least — ah — unusual.     It's  really  poetic." 

"Yes,  it  reminds  you  of  'there  was  a  sound  of  deviltry 
by  night,'  as  Billy  McNish  says  about  our  motor,"  laughed 
Clare  Hardy,  her  bright  black  eyes  dancing. 

Miss  Snifkins  looked  at  her  friend  apologetically,  and 
turned  back  in  time  to  see  the  little  man  put  a  ball  of 
lighted  paper  in  his  mouth. 

"Disgusting,"  she  said,  and  she  followed  Mr.  Hardy, 
who  was  calling  them  with  some  irritation  from  the  door- 
way. 

"For  all  the  world  like  a  frog,"  remarked  the  girl 
derisively,  as  she  watched  the  little  man  hop  from  one  side 
of  the  cart  to  the  other  in  his  efforts  to  be  amusing. 

"How  very  clever,"  assented  Miss  Snifkins'  friend 
politely,  and  they  followed  the  others.  As  they  reached 
the  doorway  they  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the  square 
where  the  little  man  was  suddenly  silent.  He  had  at- 
tracted his  crowd  and  he  had  amused  them.  It  was 
manifestly  time  for  business.  He  reappeared  from  the 
shadows  of  the  front  of  the  cart  holding  high  in  one  hand 
a  flat,  round  tin  box.  The  index  finger  of  the  other  hand 
he  shook  accusingly  at  the  awestruck  crowd. 


16  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Did  you  know/'  he  asked  in  a  hoarse  whisper  that 
grew  to  a  loud,  menacing  shout,  "  that  the  President  of 
the  United  States  blacks  his  own  shoes?"  He  paused 
proudly  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words.  "No,  not  for 
exercise,  strenuous  man  of  action  tho'  he  be;  not  because 
he  has  to,  certainly  not — he  could  undoubtedly  borrow 
the  money  for  a  shine  from  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury; 
not  because  he  wants  to  take  meat  and  drink  from  the 
poor  boy,  who,  like  an  artist,  wields  a  brush  for  a  living. 
Shall  I  tell  you  why,  my  friends?  It  is  a  precious  secret! 
Because — because — he  has  learned  that  it  is  easier  to 
black  his  own  shoes  with  Diamond  Blacking  than  to  have 
anyone  black  them  for  him." 

Three  of  the  party  at  the  door  of  the  Municipal  building 
had  gone  in  after  the  opening  sentence,  but  the  girl  re- 
mained, her  eyes  sparkling  with  the  humor  of  it.  At  last 
she  closed  the  door  and  hurried  up  the  stairs  to  find  her 
father  stamping  the  corridor,  impatient  at  the  delay. 

"I  wonder  if  it  can  be  true,"  said  Miss  Snifkins'  friend 
dreamily,  as  they  entered  the  large  room  at  the  front  of 
the  building. 

"If  what  can  be  true?"  the  girl  asked. 

"  If  the  President  does  black  his  own  shoes,"  said  Miss 
Snifkins'  friend. 

Samuel  Hardy  had  intended  to  be  a  spectator  at  this 
particular  meeting  of  the  Common  Council,  but  he  had 
had  no  idea  of  acting  as  a  chaperon.  Mrs.  Hardy,  how- 
ever, had  happened  to  mention  the  fact  casually  to  Corde- 
lia Snifkins,  the  English  teacher  at  the  High  School,  and 
Miss  Snifkins  had  repeated  it  to  her  friend  who  taught 
"government"   and  other  studies  in   a  Massachusetts 


The  President  of  the   United  States  blacks 
his  own  shoes.*'' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  17 

boarding-school.  Mr.  Hardy,  after  some  argument  during 
which  he  found  opportunity  to  occasionally  interject 
"yes"  or  '*no/'  consented  to  take  them  to  the  meeting, 
and  discussed  the  matter  rather  abruptly  with  his  wife 
afterwards.  Clare  Hardy  had  attached  herself  to  the 
expedition  at  the  last  moment  because  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  else  to  do. 

The  '^city  fathers,"  as  the  Hampstead  News  called  the 
members  of  the  Council,  were  taking  their  places  for  the 
meeting,  when  the  party,  led  by  Mr.  Hardy,  marched  in 
and  found  seats  at  the  rear  of  the  room.  Two  or  three 
older  men  bowed  to  the  manufacturer,  and  Alderman 
William  McNish  smiled  and  returned  the  girl's  bright 
little  nod,  while  some  of  the  younger  men  nudged  each 
other  and  winked  visibly.  Clare  Hardy,  noticing  them, 
flushed  at  their  rudeness. 

'^Have  you  ever  attended  one  of  these  meetings  be- 
fore?" asked  Miss  Snifkins,  when  they  were  all  settled  as 
comfortably  as  possible  on  the  long  wooden  benches. 

"No,"  said  Clare  Hardy  sweetly,  but  in  a  tone  loud 
enough  for  some  of  the  offenders  to  hear.  "The  men  I 
usually  see  have  manners." 

A  tall,  sad-looking  man,  also  a  spectator,  sitting  directly 
behind  them  suddenly  bent  double  in  a  paroxysm  of  silent 
laughter,  whispered  to  his  companion,  and  then  was  con- 
vulsed once  more. 

The  routine  business  of  the  Council  was  quickly  dis- 
posed of — cleared  away  to  gain  time  for  the  final  discus- 
sion and  decision  concerning  the  Street  Railway  Bill. 
Hampstead  had  grown  rapidly  in  the  last  few  years,  and 
the  Street  Railway  Company  was  anxious  to  more  than 


18  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

double  its  length  of  track  within  the  city.  The  terms  of 
the  bill  proposed,  however,  seemed  so  favorable  to  the 
company  that  it  was  generally  conceded  that  the  bill 
would  be  rejected  until  large  modifications  were  made. 
In  fact,  the  only  popular  clause  in  the  bill  was  the  promise 
of  the  much-needed  Broad  Street  extension  within  six 
months.  Ex-Congressman  Strutt  arose  to  present  the 
company's  case,  and  Mr.  Hardy  ignored  a  question  from 
Miss  Snifkins'  friend  and  leaned  forward  to  listen.  The 
novelty  of  parliamentary  practice  had  lost  its  first  interest 
for  Clare  Hardy,  however,  and  she  was  enjoying,  instead, 
the  comments  of  the  tall  man  behind  her. 

She  knew  the  tall  man.  His  name  was  Tubb,  and  he 
was  a  grocer.  His  greatest  rival,  Mr.  Butterson,  was  a 
coimcilman  and  sat  over  at  the  right,  his  chin  sunk  upon 
his  breast,  sleeping  peacefully.  The  rivalry  between  the 
two  had  been  bitter.  Mr.  Tubb  had  conducted  the  lead- 
ing grocery  store  in  town  under  the  simple  sign,  "Tubb — 
Grocer,"  until  Mr.  Butterson  had  opened  "The  Hamp- 
stead  Cash  Provision  Store,"  and  the  populace,  always 
eager  for  a  change,  had  rushed  to  the  new  shop.  Mr. 
Tubb  had  retaliated  by  rechristening  his  store  "The  New 
York  Grocery,"  and  considerable  custom  returned  tem- 
porarily. Mr.  Butterson  changed  his  sign  to  the  "United 
States  Cash  Store,"  and  Mr.  Tubb  responded  with  "The 
World  Grocery,"  while  the  sign  painters  smiled  as  they 
added  up  their  bills.  "The  World  Grocery"  stared  Mr. 
Butterson  in  the  face  daily  until  at  last  he  evolved  "The 
Universal  Cash  Grocery  Store."  After  that  for  months 
Mr.  Butterson  watched  Mr.  Tubb's  store  narrowly,  won- 
dering what  he  would  do  if  Tubb  went  higher.     Mr.  Tubb, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  19 

however,  had  had  an  inspiration,  and  his  opponent,  riding 
one  day  on  a  street-car,  had  read  the  result  in  black  type 
on  a  white  card: 

*  *  K  you,  want  to  buy  some  grub 
Come  and  call  on  Mr.  Tubb. 
He  will  trust  you  for  your  food 
And  you  can  bet  his  food  is  good. " 

Mr.  Butterson  went  home  that  night  pondering.  All 
day  long  in  the  store  the  miserable  doggerel  had  echoed 
from  the  change  trolley  and  from  the  hum  of  conversa- 
tion on  the  floor.  The  next  day  he  called  to  Gilshannon, 
the  News  reporter,  who  was  passing  the  store,  and  they 
conversed  in  whispers  for  some  time,  after  which  Gilshan- 
non  went  down  to  the  News  office  and  laughed  all  by 
himself.  And  only  the  week  before  this  Common  Council 
meeting,  another  card  had  appeared  beside  the  Tubb 
advertisement : 

"  We  ask  cash  while  others  trust. 
We'll  be  here  when  others  bust. 
Number  Seven  Railroad  Street 
Everything  that's  good  to  eat." 

Mr.  Butterson  was  in  the  Council;  therefore  Mr.  Tubb 
always  attended  the  meetings;  and  therefore,  also,  he 
laughed  convulsively  at  Clare  Hardy's  reference  to  "man- 
ners." Now  he  was  describing  to  his  companion,  evi- 
dently a  stranger,  the  importance  of  Ex-Congressman 
Strutt,  the  insignificant  looking  little  man  who,  in  slow, 
matter-of-fact  tones  that  implied  logic,  was  explaining 
the  great  services  which  the  Street  Railway  Company  had 
done  to  Hampstead. 


20  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"Strutt's  had  good  luck,  that's  all,"  the  girl  heard  him 
say.  "He  was  poor's  Job's  turkey  when  he  started 
readin'  law.  But  the  old  man  he  was  studyin'  with,  I 
fergit  his  name,  he  took  to  Strutt  and  when  he  died, 
Strutt  got  his  practice.  Even  then  he  couldn't  'a'  made 
a  livin'  if  he  hadn't  played  politics — a  lawyer  can't  in 
these  parts.  Somehow  'r  other  he  got  next  to  Alonao 
Hubbard,  and  he's  stuck  to  him  closer  than  the  bark  to  a 
tree  ever  since.  He  never  pays  any  attention  to  anybody 
unless  he  happens  to  feel  like  it,  and  when  somebody  said 
they  wanted  an  independent  candidate  for  Congress,  they 
decided  Strutt  was  the  most  independent  man  in  the 
district.  Some  folks  voted  for  him  to  get  him  out  o' 
town  but.  Lord,  there  wasn't  any  losin'  Strutt.  And 
now  that  measly  little  shrimp's  an  officer  at  Hubbard's 
factory.  He's  got  a  lot  of  stock  in  this  electric  company; 
he  an'  Hubbard  practically  own  the  gas  company,  and  I 
don't  know  what  all  more.  Yes,"  he  added,  *'he  trades 
at  Butterson's." 

Clare  Hardy  leaned  back,  smiling  at  the  ceiling  with 
half-closed  eyes.     The  Ex-Congressman  still  drawled  on. 

"The  Mayor?"  continued  the  whispered  voice  behind 
her.  "  His  name  is  Brett.  He  runs  a  bank  here,  a  bank 
his  father  started.  Only  one  trouble  with  Brett.  He 
drinks.  Don't  look  it,  does  he,  white  face  and  all;  but 
he's  got  a  fine  wife.  He  always  was  a  high  flyer  and 
when  she  came  here — she  was  German  and  didn't  know 
a  word  of  English — he  used  to  go  'round  to  where  she 
was  visitin'  and  teach  her.  One  night  she  went  out  to 
dinner  and  some  women  asked  her  if  she  didn't  think  the 
weather  was  all  right.     'Damfino,'   says  she.     Brett'd 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  21 

told  her  that  meant 'yes,  indeed.'  Fact!  After  that  she 
sort  o'  laid  fer  him,  and  one  night  he  put  his  arm  'round 
her  and  kissed  her.  'You  know  what  this  means  in  all 
languages,'  she  says.  Brett,  he  didn't  want  to  show  his 
ignorance,  so  he  says  'Yes,'  and  they  was  married." 

Ex-Congressman  Strutt  finished  abruptly  and  sat  down, 
and  a  portly  man  with  chin  whiskers  arose  and  began  to 
speak  in  a  persuasive,  almost  timid  voice.  Through  the 
open  window  came  the  plank,  plank,  of  the  banjo,  and 
occasionally  the  words  of  the  fakir's  song. 

"Merrivale,  that  is,"  went  on  the  voice  behind  Clare 
Hardy.  "Made  his  money  in  real  estate.  Knows  his 
business,  he  does.  He's  a  Baptist,  too,  next  pew  to  mine 
and  o'  course  he  trades  with  me.  He  boomed  a  lot  o' 
swamp  land  out  near  Tareville  three  years  ago;  had  a 
brass  band  and  a  free  lunch  and  such  like;  marked  the 
place  out  in  streets  and  sold  lots  faster  'n  you  kin  flap 
pancakes.  Seemed  like  everybody  had  always  thought 
that  place  was  the  only  place  on  earth  to  build  a  house. 
He  paid  the  old  widow  that  owned  the  swamp  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  for  it,  and  he  cleared  up  about  twenty-five 
thousand  in  a  few  weeks.  No  one  ain't  ever  built  there 
though.  You  can  see  the  signs — Pine  Street,  and  Plum 
Street,  and  the  rest — from  the  cars.  The  lots  is  all  just 
long  grass  and  weeds.  Oh,  he's  sharp,  he  is,  and  he's 
one  of  the  best  Christian  men  in  town.  He  gives  more  to 
our  church  than  anybody,  I  guess." 

Clare  Hardy  looked  Captain  Merrivale  over  quizzically 
and  felt  impulsively  sorry  for  his  wife.  She  soon  forgot 
them  both,  however,  and  stared  about  the  bare  room  in 
search  of  something  more  interesting.    She  watched  the 


22  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Mayor  as  he  lolled  back  indifferently  in  his  armchair 
behind  the  desk,  until  he  looked  up  and  across  at  her,  and 
she  turned  to  Miss  Snifkins  with  a  wry  face  and  a  feeling 
of  sudden  dislike  for  him  which  she  could  not  explain. 
Shortly,  however,  the  meeting  gained  her  undivided  at- 
tention for  the  first  time.  Captain  Merrivale  had  com- 
pleted his  remarks  in  favor  of  the  bill,  and  Alderman 
McNish  took  the  floor.  Clare  Hardy  leaned  forward  with 
frank  interest,  not  noticing  the  curious  looks  that  were 
turned  toward  her  nor  her  father's  grim  stare  as  the  young 
man  began  in  opposition  to  the  bill.  It  was  evident  from 
his  opening  sentence  that  he  was  personally  popular.  He 
had  a  merry,  jaunty  manner  that  caught  every  listener's 
attention  and  the  real  orator's  gift  that  held  them.  He 
talked  conversationally  and  well,  and  yet  the  girl  ad- 
mitted against  her  wish,  long  before  he  was  through,  that 
he  was  not  moving  his  audience — that  he  was  not  using 
his  power  so  much  to  influence  votes  as  unconsciously  to 
increase  his  own  reputation.  To  her  feminine  judgment 
Billy  sometimes  posed.  She  felt  that  he  was  posing  now 
and  the  thought  hurt  her.  Something  was  lacking  in 
his  speech,  seriousness  or  vigor  or  something  else,  she  was 
not  sure  what,  and  she  was  sorry.  He  retired,  flushed  by 
the  considerable  applause  that  followed  his  remarks,  and 
he  could  not  understand  the  frown  that  still  creased  her 
forehead,  when  he  stole  a  glance  back  at  her. 

Clare  Hardy  heard  only  indistinctly  the  short  remarks 
that  followed  from  various  parts  of  the  hall,  and  with  them 
mingled  the  noises  from  the  square  below.  She  was  try- 
ing to  understand  why  Billy  had  failed.  A  motion  to 
have  the  voting  secret  caught  her  attention  at  last,  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  23 

she  looked  up  in  time  to  see  an  exceedingly  large  and 
awkward  man  rise  from  the  seat  beyond  Billy  McNish. 
His  irregular,  homely  features  were  kindly  but  set  with 
decision,  and  he  leaned  his  great  bulk  on  one  broad  rough 
hand  flattened  on  the  rail  before  him. 

"I  don't  believe  in  that,''  he  began  in  slow,  drawling 
tones.  He  hesitated  until  the  rustle  of  the  people  turn- 
ing toward  him  should  die  away,  and  suddenly,  as  if 
in  answer  to  his  remark,  came  the  echoing  voice  from  the 
square,  clearly  audible  to  everyone  in  the  room: 

"It's  a  fact,  sir.  The  President  of  the  United  States 
blacks  his  own  shoes." 

A  suppressed  titter  grew  into  loud  unrestrained  laugh- 
ter. Billy  McNish,  whose  sense  of  the  ridiculous  was 
strong,  lay  back  in  his  seat  and  shook  for  joy.  Mr. 
Butterson  awoke  suddenly,  and  became  very  red  before 
his  blinking  eyes  showed  him  that  they  were  not  laughing 
at  him.  Directly  in  front  of  the  speaker  a  coarse  looking 
man  with  a  face  covered  with  red  blotches,  and  with  eyes 
that  looked  out  sneeringly  from  under  a  low,  overhanging 
brow,  grinned  up  at  him  and  laughed  tauntingly,  occa- 
sionally beating  his  open  hand  on  the  bench  to  add  to 
the  din.  Captain  Merrivale,  nodding  to  the  Honorable 
Strutt,  started  to  applaud  vigorously,  and  others  took  it 
up,  laughingly.  Even  Mr.  Hardy's  face  relaxed,  and 
Miss  Snifkins  and  her  friend  giggled  nervously.  Clare 
Hardy  was  smiling  also,  but  the  tall  speaker's  evident 
earnestness  had  caught  her  attention,  and  she  watched 
him  as  he  stood,  his  face  flushed  with  embarrassment, 
his  shoulders  braced  back,  protruding  chin  set  firmly 
although  his  mouth  was  smiling,  waiting  for  the  others  to 


24  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

laugh  themselves  out.  At  last  the  Mayor  called  for  order, 
and  it  came  slowly,  the  noise  breaking  out  afresh  as  some- 
one closed  the  windows.  When,  at  last,  there  was  quiet 
once  more  it  seemed  to  Clare  Hardy  that  it  had  come  more 
in  response  to  the  speaker's  silent  command  than  because 
the  Mayor  had  asked  for  it,  and  she  felt  intuitively  that 
this  man  had  an  indefinable  something  which  Billy  lacked. 
Not  until  they  were  waiting  for  him  rather  than  he  for 
them,  did  he  speak. 

"  Our  friend  believes  in  publicity,"  he  drawled  at  last. 
"  So  do  I.  A  secret  ballot  on  a  thing  like  this  is  a  sneak- 
ing ballot.  As  I  said,"  he  smiled  an  illuminating  boyish 
smile,  "I  don't  believe  in  it." 

Nevertheless  the  Council,  to  Clare  Hardy's  surprise, 
voted  for  the  secret  ballot.  Many  who  had  listened  dur- 
ing the  evening  with  a  bored  look  of  dignity  on  their 
faces,  were  laughing  again  with  easy  good  nature  as  they 
voted.  The  little  man  in  the  square  seemed  to  have 
driven  the  serious  spirit  from  the  meeting.  Clare  Hardy, 
leaning  back  and  watching  the  big  man  talking  with 
Billy  McNish,  heard  Mr.  Tubb's  inevitable  comment: 

"Gilbert,"  said  Mr.  Tubb,  "  Jawn  Gilbert.  He's  had  a 
hard  row  to  hoe.  Father  was  rich  and  died  broke  when 
he  was  a  kid.  Jack,  he  had  to  go  to  work  in  the  shops 
and  he's  made  good  tho'  a  lot  of  folks  that  used  to  toady 
to  th'  old  doctor — his  father — you  know — don't  have 
anything  to  do  with  him.  He's  straight  as  a  string  and 
strong  as  an  ox.  Why,  he  came  down  to  me  a  few 
weeks  ago  and  showed  me  where  I'd  undercharged  him 
fourteen  cents,  tho'  I  guess  he  needs  every  penny  he  can 
get;  an'  tho'  he's  as  easy  goin'  and  good  tempered  a  fellow 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  25 

as  y'ever  see,  they  say  he  licked  Martin  Jethro  an'  Tom 
Grady  together  one  day  down  at  Hardy's.  They  ain't 
either  of  'em  slouches  either.  That's  Jethro  sittin'  in 
front  of  him.  Oh,  he's  got  the  right  stuff  in  him.  He 
ain't  any  piece  of  fancy  work  to  be  used  for  decoration. 
Look  at  his  jaw." 

The  secret  ballot  had  been  taken  and  the  Mayor  was 
about  to  announce  the  vote.  Gilbert  sat  straight  in  his 
seat,  his  chin  protruding  solid  and  strong  in  the  profile. 
Then  there  arose  a  low  hum  of  surprise  from  the  thirty  or 
more  visitors,  and  many  Council  members  looked  at  each 
other  questioningly.  The  bill  had  passed,  and  the  Hamp- 
stead  Street  Railway  Company  had  its  added  franchise  at 
its  own  terms. 

"D'clare!  Strutt's  got  'em,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Tubb. 
"Funny,  ain't  it?  Does  it  just  the  way  Neely — he's  that 
long  slim  feller  with  the  watery  eyes — does  with  ten- 
pins. Watch  him  roll  and  looks  like  he  ain't  throwing  the 
ball  hard  enough  to  get  down  to  th'  other  end,  but  some- 
how or  other  he  gets  a  ten-strike  every  time." 

Clare  Hardy  smiled  across  at  Billy  McNish,  whose  face 
was  frankly  disconsolate.  Looking  beyond  she  saw  Gil- 
bert, who  had  not  moved  when  the  vote  was  announced 
and  who  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  Mayor  Brett;  and 
her  face  flushed  slightly  as  she  remembered  what  Mr. 
Tubb  had  said  about  the  people  who  had  toadied  to  the 
Doctor.  She  had  not  spoken  a  dozen  words  to  John  Gil- 
bert in  as  many  years. 

The  meeting  adjourned  quickly,  and  Mr.  Hardy  left  the 
ladies  to  join  the  Mayor  and  Captain  Merrivale  and  others 
who  were  congratulating  the  Ex-Congressman  on  the  sue- 


26  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

cess  of  the  bill.  Billy  McNish  emerged  from  a  group  that 
were  laughing  again  with  Gilbert  about  the  interruption 
of  his  remarks,  and  came  to  greet  Clare  Hardy. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  you're  doing  here?"  he  said, 
after  he  had  been  introduced  to  Miss  Snif kins'  friend, 
who  was  tremulous  and  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  his 
greatness.  Miss  Snifkins  and  her  friend  explained  simul- 
taneously and  with  some  confusion. 

"I  wanted  to  hear  you  make  a  speech,"  said  Clare 
Hardy,  her  eyes  dancing. 

Billy  flushed  self-consciously,  and  Miss  Snifkins  and  her 
friend  turned  to  watch  the  others  who  were  beginning  to 
leave  the  hall. 

"Well,  how  was  it?"  Billy  was  looking  frankly  for 
approval. 

"Oh,  you  did  very  well,"  said  the  girl  provokingly. 

"Best  speech  I  ever  made  and  all  because  you  were 
here,  although  I'll  admit  you  nearly  knocked  me  when 
you  came." 

"They  passed  the  bill,"  said  Clare  viciously. 

"Yes.     I  don't  understand  it  either." 

"  Never  mind,  Billy,  you'll  make  better  speeches." 

"You're  mighty  unsatisfactory,  Clare." 

"So  are  you." 

Someone  called  Billy  away  before  he  could  retort.  Mr. 
Hardy  rejoined  the  ladies  and  hurried  them  out  of  the 
rapidly  emptying  room,  Clare  Hardy  nodding  a  smile  to 
Billy  from  the  doorway.  In  the  street  they  found  the 
square  deserted;  the  cart  and  the  crowd  and  the  little 
fakir  had  melted  away  as  if  by  magic. 

"Wonder  if  he  sold  all  o'  the  President's  shoe  blackin'," 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  27 

Mr.  Tubb  was  heard  remarking.  "  Wonder  what  the 
great  man  ^11  do  if  he  has.'' 

Two  men  came  down  the  steps  as  they  sat  waiting  for 
Mr.  Hardy  to  start  the  motor.  They  were  arm  in  arm, 
and  were  talking  vigorously.  Clare  Hardy  watched  them 
swing  rapidly  up  the  street,  Gilbert  with  long  methodical 
strides  and  Billy  McNish  with  quicker,  more  nervous 
steps,  until  they  were  lost  in  the  shadow. 

" How'd  you  like  it,  sis?"  said  Mr.  Hardy,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  when  later  they  had  deposited  Miss  Snifkins  and  her 
friend  at  Miss  Snifkins'  house  and  had  started  for  West 
Hill. 

"I  learned  a  good  deal  I  didn't  know  before." 

"Huh,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Hardy,  "I  thought  you  left 
that  to  the  schoolmarms.     What  did  you  find  out?" 

"Oh,  that  Captain  Merrivale's  a  good  Christian  who 
sells  lots  for  a  good  deal  more  than  they're  worth,"  rat- 
tled off  his  daughter,  counting  each  detail  on  her  fingers; 
"how  that  disgusting  Mr.  Brett  happened  to  marry  such 
a  charming  woman;  that  Mr.  Neely  is  a  good  bowler; 
that  Jack  Gilbert  isn't  a  piece  of  fancy  work,  and  many 
other  things.  You  see,  I  sat  in  front  of  Mr.  Tubb,"  she 
added,  in  answer  to  the  amazed  look  on  Mr.  Hardy's  face. 

"Why  did  Billy  McNish  oppose  that  bill?"  she  asked  a 
minute  later. 

"Party  politics,  I  guess,"  said  Mr.  Hardy. 

"And  why  did  you  favor  it?"  she  asked  again. 

"Because  there's  money  in  it  for  me,  but  that's  a 
family  secret." 

Clare  Hardy  stared  out  at  the  lights  in  the  houses  and 
the  tree  shadows  nearer  by  that  scuttled  past  them,  and 


28  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

tried  to  understand  the  ways  of  men.  As  they  turned  in 
at  the  narrow  driveway,  however,  a  familiar  voice  caught 
her  ear. 

"And  say,  Jack,"  Billy  was  calling  up  the  street, 
"remember,  the  President  of  the  United  States  blacks 
his  own  shoes." 

Clare  smiled  across  at  her  father,  but  he  was  busy  with 
the  machine. 


n 


CHAPTER   III 


IF   YE   GIT   HOT  UNDER  THE   COLLAR,   TAKE  IT  OFP' 


THE  heart  of  modern  Hampstead  is  in  its  factories, 
and  the  casual  traveler,  hurrying  past  over  any 
one  of  the  three  lines  of  railroad,  hears  its  trip- 
hammer pulse  and  feels  its  throbbing  power  long  before 
the  train  reaches  the  large  stone  station  at  the  center. 
Looking  out,  he  catches  glimpses  of  the  solid  mass  of  brick 
ramparts  whitened  now  and  then  for  better  light,  that 
liae  either  side  of  Hampstead  River  from  the  Hardy  works 
on  the  north  to  the  newer  Hubbard  mills  at  the  south. 
From  the  windows  blackened  faces  peer  down  at  him 
and  grimy  hands  wave  him  a  careless  welcome.  When 
the  train  stops  a  crowd  of  passengers  bustle  out  upon  the 
platform:  emigrants  with  awkward  bundles,  and  sullen 
faces,  timid  faces,  grinning  faces,  stolid  faces,  all  talking 
at  once,  a  medley  of  Italian  and  Polish  dialects;  hurrying 
noisy  young  men  with  heavy  satchels  of  samples;  keen- 
eyed,  square-jawed,  silent  men  who  have  the  look  of  the 
shops,  and  an  occasional  more  elderly  man,  slower  of 
step,  his  shrewd  eyes  fixed  on  the  pavement  before  him 
as  if  lost  in  a  maze  of  figures  and  estimates.  And  all  of 
them  are,  or  soon  will  be,  part  of  the  vast  machine  of 
machines  the  train  has  left  behind  along  the  river  bank. 

Life  in  Hampstead  is  largely  a  matter  of  habit.     In  the 
morning,  at  the  shriek  of  the  "quarter  whistle,"  which  is 

29 


30  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

the  Pied  Piper  of  Hampstead,  half  of  the  population  flows 
down  West  Hill,  and  down  East  Hill,  where  a  colony  of 
Poles  are  elbowing  American  citizens  of  Irish  birth,  and 
up  from  the  South  End,  conglomerate  of  Germans  and 
Swedes,  and  from  across  the  river,  ''Little  Italy,"  as  it  is 
called,  where  new  streets  are  christened  every  week  and 
where  Mike  the  Padrone  bullies  his  following  down  and 
up  and  across  and  into  the  mills,  where  the  doors  close 
after  them.  The  better  half  remains  at  home,  and  the 
center  is  rural  with  milk  wagons  and  grocery  teams  and  a 
load  of  hay  now  and  then  in  its  season.  The  ebb  and 
flow  at  noon  is  followed  a  little  later  by  incoming  groups 
of  women  shoppers  who  make  Mr.  McNish's  big  depart- 
ment-store their  headquarters  for  the  afternoon,  while  at 
night  when  the  stores  are  open,  and  especially  on  Satur- 
day nights,  Main  Street  approximates  the  bedlam  of  a 
metropolis.  Hampstead  men  seldom  stay  up  late  at 
night,  except  to  get  the  news  of  some  unusual  event,  like 
the  Presidential  election  or  a  championship  prize-fight, 
and  even  for  these  midnight  is  usually  the  limit  of  the 
vigil.  And  Hampstead  thinks  as  it  lives.  When  Cap- 
tain Merrivale's  son,  who  teaches  in  a  college,  came  home 
one  summer,  workingmen,  who  could  not  understand  how 
anyone  could  make  a  living  without  going  into  the  shop 
at  seven  and  coming  away  at  five,  shook  their  heads  and 
remarked  that  "young  Merrivale  couldn't  be  doin'  very 
well,"  and  kindly  old  Mr.  McNish  said  seriously  that  it 
seemed  a  pity  for  a  young  man,  who  evidently  had  so 
much  ability,  to  be  wasting  his  time  when  he  might  make 
money  in  business. 
The  Honorable  Strutt  had  once  called  Hampstead  in  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  31 

speech  long  remembered  by  its  citizens,  "the  city  of 
ideas,"  which  Billy  McNish  promptly  paraphrased  and 
said  that  the  Congressman  had  meant  "I  Deus."  Mr. 
Strutt  probably  meant  that  among  the  citizens  there  were 
an  unusual  number  of  inventive  Yankees,  who  found 
constantly  new  things  for  the  factories  to  make  and  new 
ways  of  making  things,  or  that  the  city  was  progressive 
and  was  well  supplied  with  public  buildings  and  schools. 
Otherwise  it  is  very  much  like  the  country  boy  who  at 
ten  is  wearing  the  outgrown  clothes  of  six.  Its  philosophy 
is  elementary  and  its  tastes  are  unsophisticated  of  stand- 
ard. Its  people  work  hard  every  working  day;  all  but  a 
very  few,  from  Alonzo  Hubbard  down  to  the  poorest  day- 
laborer,  earn  more  than  they  spend,  and  nearly  all  of  them 
live  in  detached  houses  and  are  respectable,  church-going 
and  law-abiding.  It  is  a  contented  community,  and  if  it 
is  seldom  swept  by  enthusiasm,  it  is  grounded  in  sound 
common-sense  and  is  impelled  forward  by  steady  ambi- 
tion. 

It  is  a  home-loving  town,  and  on  Decoration  Day,  when 
the  thinned  ranks  of  the  Grand  Army  had  passed,  ranks 
led  by  Captain  Merrivale,  who  had  enlisted  as  a  private  in 
^63,  who  had  been  taken  ill  before  he  reached  Washington, 
but  who  nevertheless  had  always  enjoyed  the  martial 
title;  and  flanked  on  the  last  line  by  Mr.  McNish,  who 
had  been  a  Major  in  the  regulars  but  who  remained  plain 
Mr.  McNish,  the  people  hurried  back  to  their  homes  and 
left  the  streets  at  the  center  quiet  save  for  occasional 
stragglers.  Billy  McNish,  however,  fat  and  roly-poly  in 
his  khaki,  returned  after  the  parade  to  his  law  office. 
There  he  threw  up  the  windows  and  let  the  light  and  air 


32  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

stream  in  over  musty  books  and  paper-strewn  desk.  He 
stood  moodily  looking  out  for  a  moment.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  stubby,  straight  little  Irishman  with  black  coat, 
red  hair  and  pug  nose,  who  had  followed  him  in  and  who 
now  stood  waiting,  fingering  a  derby  hat  which  had  once 
been  black. 

"  Sit  down,  Moriarty,"  said  Billy  good-humoredly,  "  and 
have  a  cigar,"  opening  up  a  box  out  of  one  of  the  desk 
drawers.  After  seeing  his  guest  pulling  and  puffing  noisily, 
he  lit  a  cigar  himself  and  settled  back  in  the  big  office 
chair.  The  breeae  from  the  window  ruffled  up  his  long 
curly  hair,  making  more  boyish  his  round  face,  clean 
shaven  save  for  a  closely  trimmed  mustache.  For  a 
moment  they  sat  silent,  Moriarty's  eyes  fixed  on  the  waste- 
basket,  Billy's  on  the  ceiling. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  absolutely  frank  with  you,  Moriarty," 
said  McNish  at  last.  Moriarty  leaned  forward  and  took 
his  cigar  from  his  mouth. 

"You're  talking  about  trying  to  make  me  a  judge. 
Now  a  judge,  Moriarty,  is  a  man  who  is  considered  to  be 
wise  because  he  never  smiles  and  because  he  don't  talk." 
Billy  stopped  and  looked  out  of  the  window  for  a  moment. 
"  Now,  I'm  not  that  sort.  I  like  a  good  time.  I've  got 
to  laugh  and  to  talk  from  late  in  the  morning  until  early  in 
the  morning,"  he  said  with  a  merry  grimace  that  was 
attractive.  "  So  I  can't  be  a  judge,  but  I  can  be  a  poli- 
tician. Moriarty!"  he  went  on,  *'I  want  to  be  Mayor  of 
Hampstead;  later  I  want  to  be  Governor,  and  after  that 
Congress  or  something  else — anything  I  can  get." 

Moriarty  studied  the  ash  of  his  cigar  microscopically. 

"'Tis  a  good  cigar,"  he  said  finally.     "It  burns  like  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


Manyool  Garcy.  It  burns  straight.  Take  it  aisy,'*  he 
said  quickly,  noticing  Billy's  nervous  drumming  with  his 
fingers  on  the  chair  arm.  "I'm  comin'  to  that.  You 
burn  straight,  too;  you've  got  a  good  head  well  connected 
with  yer  tongue;  fer  political  purposes  you're  a  hero  who 
fought  in  Cuby  even  if  you  only  got  as  far  as  Camp  Alger. 
But  politics  is  like  a  horse  race.  How  you  look  before- 
hand don't  coimt  so  much  as  the  way  you  come  down  the 
stretch." 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  me?"  asked  Billy,  laugh- 
ing.    "Haven't  I  staying  powers?" 

"I'll  tell  ye,  sir.  It'll  be  close  this  Fall.  It's  always 
close.  The  Demmycratic  candidate  '11  need  the  union 
vote.  Unions  don't  like  lawyers.  I  wonder  why.  And 
they  hate  Sam  Hardy,  and  ye're  Sam  Hardy's  lawyer." 

"Hardy  gave  me  that  cigar  that  burns  so  straight," 
laughed  Billy. 

"Hardy?"  ejaculated  Moriarty.  "He  did?"  With  a 
quick  movement  he  threw  the  partly  smoked  cigar  on  the 
floor  and  stamped  the  fire  out  of  it.  Then  he  rose  to  his 
feet.  "  *Tis  an  insult  to  let  any  respectable  man  smoke 
after  him  without  wamin',"  he  said  angrily. 

"Have  one  of  mine  to  take  the  taste  out  of  your 
mouth,"  said  Billy  soothingly. 

Moriarty  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he  leaned  over  and 
took  it  just  as  the  door  opened  quietly  and  let  in  the  tall, 
broad-shouldered  form  of  John  Gilbert.  He  was  fanning 
himself  with  a  slouch  hat,  and  he  smiled  broadly  as  he 
saw  the  two  men  before  him. 

"Hello,"  he  drawled.  "Am  I  interrupting  a  con- 
spiracy?" 


34  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"How  are  ye,  Jack?"  said  Moriarty  heartily,  rising  and 
putting  out  his  rough  hand. 

Billy,  evidently  embarrassed,  fiddled  with  a  penholder 
on  the  desk. 

"Why,  I'd  just  as  soon  have  you  know,  old  man,"  he 
said  at  last.  "We've  been  talking  about  whether  I 
should  run  for  Mayor  in  the  Fall.  There  seems  to  be  a 
demand  for  young  men,  eh,  Moriarty?" 

"Yis,"  replied  the  Irishman,  who  remained  standing. 
"An'  I  was  just  agoin'  to  think  it  over,  ye  know."  He 
caught  Billy's  glance  and  added  quickly — "Some  more, 
av  coorse." 

"Good  idea,"  remarked  Gilbert,  looking  with  a  whim- 
sical smile  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  he  understood  all 
that  had  not  been  told  him.  "  If  I  can  help,  you  know 
where  I  am,  Moriarty." 

The  Irishman  had  reached  the  door,  but  he  turned  now 
as  a  sudden  thought  came  to  him. 

"  Ye  can  help,"  he  said.  "  Ye've  got  a  big  pull  with  the 
men  in  the  last  two  years — the  union  men  especially." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Gilbert  replied,  slowly  shaking  his 
head.  "But  of  course  you  can  bank  on  anything  I  can 
do — both  of  you " 

Moriarty  went  down  the  stairs  slowly.  As  he  reached 
the  street  he  stopped,  leaned  over  and  slapped  his  knee 
vigorously.  Then,  suddenly  coming  to  himself,  ho  looked 
shamefacedly  up  and  down  the  street  to  see  if  anyone 
had  noticed  him  do  it.  "He's  the  man,  not  the  other 
wan.  I  wonder,"  he  had  muttered  as  he  smote  his  knee. 
And  he  stood  thinking  for  two  or  three  minutes  before  he 
moved  off  down  the  street. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  35 

"Why  weren't  you  at  the  town  meeting  last  night, 
Jack?"  asked  Billy,  upstairs,  after  Moriarty  had  gone. 

"I  was  there,"  grinned  Gilbert,  sitting  in  the  seat 
Moriarty  had  vacated.  "Down  in  back.  Didn't  stay 
through." 

"That's  just  the  trouble  with  you,  Jack,"  began  Billy 
impulsively.  "You  always  take  a  back  seat.  I'll  bet 
you  saw  me  all  right." 

Gilbert  nodded. 

"And  to-day  here  I  tramp  around  with  my  medals  on; 
probably  looked  a  holy  show.  D'ye  think  I  do  it  for  fun? 
Every  few  steps  I  took  I  was  cursing  myself  for  an  ass." 

"That  pretty  typewriter  girl  of  Hardy's  said,  *  Ain't  he 
lovely?'  when  you  passed,"  broke  in  Gilbert,  smiling. 

"That's  just  it,"  went  on  Billy  eagerly.  "Everybody 
in  town  knows  me  because  I  always  take  a  front  seat. 
They  forget  you  because  you  always  hide  away  out  of 
sight." 

"I  suppose  you're  right,"  Gilbert  said  after  a  slight 
pause.  "I'll  try  to  brace  up;  but  I  can't  talk,  Billy,  and 
a  crowd  scares  me. 

"Say,  Billy,"  Gilbert  went  on,  "why  did  Hardy  let  in 
Brett  and  Merrivale  to  his  board  of  directors?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  puzzled  Billy. 

"  Thought  you  might.  And  where  did  Brett  get  money 
enough  to  buy  two  big  blocks  of  Hardy  stock?" 

"I  don't  know.     Has  he?" 

"So  I  heard.  I  just  wondered  about  it,  that's  all. 
Thought  you  might  know." 

But  Billy  did  not  know,  and  was  chagrined  that  he  did 
not,  for  Billy  never  liked  to  admit  his  ignorance  of  any- 


36  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

thing.  Soon  Gilbert  arose  to  go  and  Billy,'  slamming 
down  the  window,  went  with  him.  Opposite  the  pho- 
tographer's display  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  they  stopped 
for  a  moment.  The  central  picture  was  that  of  a  slender 
girl  in  evening  dress,  whose  wavy  dark  hair  swept  a  broad 
forehead  and  about  whose  full  lips  and  cheeks  there 
played  a  tantalizing  smile.  The  portrait  caught  the  eyes 
of  both  men  as  they  stopped.  They  stood  for  a  moment, 
staring  at  it  without  speaking. 

"Can  I  congratulate  you  yet,  Billy?"  asked  Gilbert  in 
a  low  voice. 

McNish  shook  his  head. 

"I  wish  you  could,"  he  said  simply.  "She's  the  best 
ever." 

Their  ways  divided  at  the  comer,  for  Billy  was  going  to 
the  armory,  and  Gilbert  turned  up  West  Hill  alone,  past 
the  clumsy  new  brick  blocks  of  the  business  section  which 
were  gradually  encroaching  on  the  residential  property 
beyond.  A  few  old  soldiers  who  drifted  quietly  by  him, 
younger,  louder  men  in  militia  uniform  and  an  occasional 
sight-seer  or  two  only  accentuated  the  holiday  emptiness 
of  the  streets.  Farther  on  he  could  see  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill  the  far-away  gaunt  gray  outline  of  the  old  Gilbert 
house,  sturdy  and  firm  as  it  had  been  when  the  Doctor 
left  it  for  the  last  time  twenty  years  ago.  It  seemed  now 
to  cry  invitation  to  Jack  every  time  he  passed  it,  going  to 
and  from  the  little  cottage  beyond,  where  he  and  his 
mother  lived. 

Mr.  McNish  had  bought  it  to  save  it  from  the  ruin  the 
fatal  letter  had  brought,  and  had  mortgaged  his  future  to 
do  it,  though  the  future  luckily  had  taken  care  of  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  37 

mortgage  afterwards.  Jack  had  been  kept  at  school  until 
he  had  finished  the  High  School  course,  and  then,  with  the 
student's  mind  he  had  inherited  from  the  Doctor,  had  put 
aside  thoughts  of  college  and  had  gone  to  work  for  Hardy 
&  Son.  There  were  debts  to  be  paid  and  a  future  to  be 
made  for  his  mother  and  for  himself.  Mr.  McNish  had 
offered  him  a  place  in  his  store,  but  the  young  fellow  had 
refused  the  kindly  suggestion.  "You've  been  a  very 
good  friend  to  us,  sir,"  he  had  said  gravely,  "  and  I  think 
I  had  rather  work  for  someone  else."  So  Mr.  McNish 
admired  him  all  the  more,  and  although  it  hurt  his  mother 
to  see  him  come  home  with  his  white  hands  daubed  with 
inerasable  grease  and  dirt,  she  approved.  It  had  been 
hard  for  the  boy  at  first,  for  he  was  proud,  and  it  hurt  him 
to  see  his  former  friends  gradually  become  polite  and 
restrained.  The  girls  he  knew  soon  merely  bowed  to  him, 
and  even  the  boys  lost  something  of  their  former  good 
comradeship  as  their  different  tasks  drew  them  apart  from 
him.  Billy  McNish  alone  remained  entirely  unchanged. 
Billy  went  to  Yale  and  to  Law  School  and  came  back  as 
loyal  a  friend  of  Jack's  as  before.  He  enlisted  and  be- 
came a  lieutenant  of  volunteers  at  the  time  of  the  Spanish 
War,  and  when  he  arrived  in  Hampstead  again  Jack  was 
the  first  person  he  had  gone  to  see.  Billy  went  to  all  the 
social  affairs  of  the  clique  of  well-to-do  people  who  were 
considered  the  society  of  the  city,  but  there  had  never 
been  a  time  when  their  friendship  had  wavered.  In  the 
meantime  Jack  had  made  new  friends  among  the  men  of 
the  shops.  The  older  mechanics  welcomed  him  for  the  old 
Doctor's  sake,  and  in  common  with  the  others  grew  to 
like  him.     Only  a  few  had  been  jealous  of  his  slow  advance 


38  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

to  the  position  of  assistant  superintendent  of  the  large 
mills,  for  everyone  knew  that  he  had  earned  it  by  per- 
sistent work.  There  were  many  indeed  who  said  without 
hesitation  that  even  Simpson,  the  superintendent,  did 
not  know  the  shops  as  well  as  Gilbert  did.  And  it  had 
been  work,  day  in  and  day  out,  and  at  night  self-imposed 
tasks  of  study  to  perfect  his  equipment. 

At  first  he  rebelled  bitterly  against  it  all;  this  driving 
work  into  which  he  had  been  forced.  He  felt  the  relent- 
less power  of  circumstance  wedging  him  into  a  narrow 
niche.  It  suffocated  him,  and  he  tried  to  turn  on  it  and 
beat  it  back.  He  hated  the  machines,  hated  the  dirt, 
hated  the  badly  ventilated  rooms.  He  wanted  to  learn, 
learn,  learn.  And  yet  his  mother,  patiently  caring  for  the 
little  cottage  with  the  same  grace  and  even  greater  ten- 
derness, never  heard  a  word  of  complaint,  and  only  a  few 
times  did  her  keen  mother's  eyes  get  a  fugitive  glimpse  of 
his  trial.  The  only  person  to  whom  he  ever  unburdened 
himself  was  the  Colonel.  Once  he  let  the  whole  flood  of 
his  disappointment  and  discouragement  loose  in  the  Colo- 
nel's little  sitting-room,  edged  with  bows  and  arrows, 
wampum  necklaces,  snowshoes,  saddles  and  a  hundred 
and  one  relics  of  the  grizzled  old  man's  career  on  the 
frontier.  When  he  was  through  the  Colonel  patted  him 
on  the  back  roughly.  *^  Don't  git  grouchy  ef  things  don't 
come  your  way,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  Ef  ye're  grouchy  ye 
can't  blame  'em." 

From  the  rebellion  of  the  first  year  he  relapsed  into 
stolid,  dull  plodding,  seeing  little  light  ahead,  but  saving  a 
little  money  from  his  pitiful  salary  to  reduce  the  indebted- 
ness that  stared  him  constantly  in  the  face.     Again  it  was 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  39 

the  Colonel  who  put  him  to  rights,  for  Jack  was  sensitive 
and  looked  up  to  the  Colonel  much  as  he  had  as  a  boy. 
"How's  the  traveling?"  asked  the  Colonel  one  night. 
"Well,  I'm  doing  my  best,"  said  Jack  lackadaisically. 
"Doing  your  best,  my  boy,"  said  the  Colonel,  blinking  at 
Jack  over  his  spectacles,  "ain't  any  good  on  earth  ef  it 
don't  git  you  whar  ye  want  to  go." 

In  the  last  two  or  three  years  the  work  had  had  a  new 
zest  for  him.  To  meet  problems  and  solve  them;  to  know 
men  and  lead  them;  to  build  up  achievement  after 
achievement,  piece  by  piece,  began  to  appeal  to  him. 
His  imagination,  dulled  before,  began  to  find  music  in  the 
clanging  drill,  an  epic  in  the  swinging  machines,  drama  after 
drama  in  the  human  toil  all  about  him.  And  his  mother, 
watching  him,  day  by  day,  smiled  more  often  at  her 
thoughts,  as  she  saw  his  step  grow  more  brisk  and  his 
little  attentions  to  her  become  more  spontaneous  than 
they  had  been.  His  big  body,  hardened  by  rough  toil, 
was  strong  beyond  his  own  knowledge  of  it,  and  he  had 
evolved  a  calmer  philosophy  than  most  men  of  his  years. 

He  was  thinking  now  of  the  shops,  puzzling  over  the 
same  questions  he  had  asked  Billy  McNish.  The  Doctor 
had  bought  a  few  shares  of  Hardy  stock  during  the  winter 
preceding  his  death,  and  they  had  held  these  alone  out  of 
the  wreck  of  his  fortune  because  the  stock  paid  large 
dividends.  Now  the  dividends  had  shrunk  to  almost 
nothing,  and  there  had  been  no  evidence  until  recently 
that  anyone  cared  to  buy  the  stock  even  at  a  low  figure. 
Why  was  Mayor  Brett  buying  it?  And  whom  was  he  buy- 
ing it  for?  Everyone  knew  that  the  Mayor  had  no  con- 
siderable amount  of  money  free  for  investment.     Gilbert 


40  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

was  frankly  puzzled.  At  intervals  he  thought  of  Hardy 
himself,  the  gruff  "old  man."  Then  suddenly  his  mind 
ran  off  to  greet  the  quaint  figure  of  a  little  girl  or  to  bow 
coolly  to  a  tall  young  woman  with  wavy  black  hair  bor- 
dering a  broad  forehead.  He  caught  himself  and  blushed 
boyishly.  It  was  remarkable,  he  thought,  how  plainly 
the  little  girl  came  back  to  him  through  all  the  years 
during  which  he  had  occasionally  met  the  young  lady 
and  returned  her  pleasant  nod.  And  it  was  remarkable, 
too,  how  clearly  he  remembered  each  change  he  had  seen 
in  her  when  she  had  been  away  at  various  times  at  college 
and  elsewhere. 

And  so  he  came  to  Colonel  Mead's  square  frame  house, 
which  was  set,  old  and  contented  looking,  in  the  midst  of 
thick  trees  and  untrimmed  bushes.  Neighbors  of  the 
Colonel  often  complained  to  each  other  because  his  house 
alone,  in  a  line  of  fresh  modern  dwellings,  was  dingy  and 
the  place  unkempt.  One  of  them,  bolder  than  the  rest, 
one  evening  when  the  Colonel  was  showing  his  curios, 
wrote  her  name  in  the  dust  on  some  old  firearms  and, 
shaking  her  smudged  forefinger  at  the  old  veteran, 
remarked  that  cleanliness  was  next  to  godliness. 

"Cleanliness,  my  dear  madam,"  the  blunt  old  blas- 
phemer had  answered,  "may  be  next  to  godliness,  but 
comfort's  better'n  either  of  'em." 

And  the  rugged  old  philosopher  from  experience  con- 
tinued to  live  his  life  in  his  own  way.  As  to  other  people's 
opinions  it  wasn't  difficult,  he  often  said,  to  think  just  as 
bad  things  of  them  as  they  could  possibly  think  of  him. 

Gilbert  turned  in  at  the  sagging  gate  and  mounted  the 
worn  steps.     Having  rung  the  bell  he  sat  down  on  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  41 

veranda  rail  to  wait.  As  he  did  so  his  eye,  through  the 
vista  of  trees,  caught  sight  of  a  Uttle  boy  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  standing  terrified  as  a  huge  dog,  a  big  Dane, 
bounded  about  him  in  awkward  playfulness.  Almost 
immediately  a  tall,  willowy  girl  appeared  and  put  one  hand 
on  the  frightened  boy's  shoulder  and  the  other  on  the 
dog's  head,  and  patted  them  both  until  the  boy  stopped 
whimpering  and  the  dog's  tail  wagged  vigorously.  Gil- 
bert felt  that  he  could  almost  see  the  tantalizing  smile 
about  Clare  Hardy's  mouth  as  she  made  the  boy's  hand 
smooth  the  big  dog's  back.  Then  with  the  youngster, 
whom  Gilbert  had  recognized  as  the  son  of  the  Rev. 
Brice,  the  new  Methodist  minister,  almost  reconciled,  she 
disappeared  behind  the  trees,  the  dog  bounding  on  ahead. 

"  When  ye've  ridden  thet  rail  ez  fer  ez  the  door  o'  the 
ranch  ye  kin  git  down  an'  come  in,"  remarked  the  Colo- 
nel's voice  reflectively  from  the  doorway,  and  Gilbert, 
laughing,  disentangled  himself  from  the  railing  and  fol- 
lowed the  old  man  in. 

"  Ef  I'd  'a'  known  it  wuz  only  you  I  wouldn't  'a'  put 
my  collar  an'  coat  on,"  the  Colonel  said.  '*It's  remark- 
able how  ashamed  civilization  and  women  makes  ye  feel 
of  a  good  clean  neck  and  a  shirt  fresh  from  washin'." 

They  sat  down  in  the  little  sitting-room  whose  windows 
were  all  wide  open,  and  the  Colonel  began  working  upon 
a  basket  he  had  been  weaving  when  Jack  rang  the  bell. 

''Well,"  remarked  the  Colonel,  looking  up.  "What's 
on  yer  mind,  my  boy?    Pry  it  off  an'  let's  look  at  it." 

Gilbert  took  out  his  pipe,  filled  it  and  lighted  it  before 
he  answered,  and  the  Colonel  went  back  to  his  work. 

"Has  Brett  tried  to  buy  your  Hardy  stock.  Colonel?" 


42  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"What?"  The  veteran  stared  at  Jack  in  evident 
amazement.     Gilbert  repeated  the  question. 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel,  "he  ain't;  but  he  wouldn't 
need  a  regiment  of  men  to  make  me  do  it." 

"You're  a  director  in  the  concern." 

"Thet's  whar  ye're  wrong,"  returned  the  Colonel. 
"  Thar  ain't  but  one  real  director  and  thet's  Hardy.  An' 
when  he  gits  throo  directin',  thar  won't  be  nothin'  left 
fer  the  ravens  to  pick  but  bones.  An'  I'd  rather  hev 
most  anybody  else  a  raven  than  me.  Thar  ain't  but  one 
man  in  this  here  town,"  went  on  the  Colonel  reflectively, 
"thet  riles  me  worse'n  Sam  Hardy  and  that's  old  Hub- 
bard. One's  vinegar  an'  th'  other's  molasses.  One  sours 
my  stummick  an'  th'  other  makes  me  sick.  What's  the 
matter,  boy?" 

Gilbert's  chair ,which  had  been  tilting  back,  had  returned 
to  its  normal  position  with  a  crash,  and  there  was  a  gleam 
in  Gilbert's  eyes  as  he  stared  at  the  Colonel.  After  a 
moment  he  leaned  back  and  smiled. 

"It  just  occurred  to  me  that  Brett  might  have  a  good 
deal  of  *  molasses'  behind  him,  Colonel,"  he  drawled. 

Colonel  Mead  looked  thoughtfully  over  his  glasses  at 
the  young  man. 

"Hubbard,  eh?"  he  remarked  at  last.  "Like  ez  not. 
Jack.     Like  ez  not." 

Gilbert  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  during  which  the 
Colonel,  who,  from  experience,  was  a  wise  man  and  con- 
siderate, returned  to  his  basket-weaving. 

Alonzo  Hubbard,  starting  after  Hardy  had  achieved 
his  first  successes,  had  gradually  built  up  a  still  larger 
business,  and,  within  the  last  few  years,  had  gained  con- 


THE    BALANCE    OF   POWER  43 

trol  of  many  of  the  smaller  Hampstead  concerns.  It  had 
been  Hubbard's  competition  that  had  reduced  the  profits 
of  half  of  Hardy's  business,  before  the  growing  company 
in  Westbury,  ten  miles  away,  had  come  to  undersell 
Hardy  on  the  other  half.  Hubbard  was  the  richest  man 
in  Hampstead,  and  Mayor  Brett  was  one  of  his  closest 
social  and  business  friends,  although  Brett  was  also 
ostensibly  a  friend  to  Hardy.  Jack  thought  it  all  over 
rapidly. 

"  With  good  management  we  could  make  a  lot  of  trouble 
for  Hubbard  and  a  lot  of  money  for  Hardy  &  Son,"  Gil- 
bert said  slowly. 

'^Holdin'  four  deuces  ain't  any  good  if  ye're  playin' 
whist,"  replied  the  Colonel.  *'Ye  can't  hev  good  man- 
agement with  Hardy,  an'  ye've  got  to  play  with  him." 

"The  old  man  is  queer,"  said  Jack,  shaking  his  head 
disconsolately.  "He's  as  proud  as  Punch  of  the  shops. 
Look  at  that  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  surplus  we 
made  years  ago.  He'd  rather  quit  than  spend  a  penny 
of  that.  And  we  need  it.  Lord,  how  we  need  it  I  It 
makes  me  hot  under  the  collar  to  think  of  it." 

"Ef  ye  git  hot  under  the  collar,"  remarked  the  Colonel 
out  of  the  wisdom  of  experience,  "take  it  off." 

"Colonel,"  went  on  Gilbert  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who 
is  telling  a  secret  of  which  he  is  ashamed,  "I've  been 
studying  the  business  pretty  hard  and  pretty  closely. 
I've  got  it  all  planned  out  on  paper — machines,  organiza- 
tion, everything.  And  there  are  some  patents,  too;  that 
is  to  say,  they  are  not  patents  yet — inventions  I've  been 
thinking  about.     If  I  only  had  a  chance  to " 

"But  ye  hevn't,  boy,"  broke  in  the  Colonel,  putting 


44  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

aside  the  basketry,  his  interest  in  which  had  been  feigned 
ever  since  Jack's  arrival.  "Ye  hevn't  an'  ye  won't  hev. 
Don't  git  impatient,  Jack.  I  got  impatient  with  a  mule 
once,  a  good  many  years  ago,  and  when  I  came  to,  I  was 
whole  rods  back  of  whar  I  was  before.  An'  what's  more, 
I  didn't  want  to  go  ahead  agin  fer  days.  Felt  the  humil- 
iation chiefly  in  my  stummick,  whar  I'd  connected  with 
the  mule's  heels.  Well,  Hardy's  a  good  deal  of  a  mule. 
You  jest  stay  on  his  back  an'  be  thankful  ye're  thar." 

Gilbert  smiled  genially  at  the  Colonel's  sober  face. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  putting  my  plans  before  him — 
the  whole  thing,  Colonel." 

"Don't  ye  do  it.  Jack.  When  ye  git  all  yer  plans  on 
paper,  fold  'em  up  nice  an'  even  an'  put  'em  in  the  fire  an' 
whistle  'Yankee  Doodle,'  an'  go  back  to  work.  Ez  fer 
old  Hubbard,  ef  he  is  after  Hardy's  he'll  likely  git  it. 
Never  heard  o'  Hubbard  goin'  after  anything  an'  not 
gettin'  it,  did  ye?  An'  ef  he  ain't — why  he  ain't,  thet's 
all." 

The  Colonel  nodded  his  head  vigorously  to  assure  him- 
self of  the  last  statement. 

"I'll  have  to  work  it  out  my  own  way,  I  guess."  Gil- 
bert rose  to  go.  "But,"  he  added,  his  lips  smiling  but 
his  eyes  fixed  soberly  on  the  Colonel's,  "whatever  that  is, 
I  know  you'll  help  me." 

The  Colonel  pushed  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  hopped  to 
his  feet  in  spite  of  his  rheumatism.  He  took  Jack's  big 
hand. 

"  Ef  ye  wuz  to  try  to  move  Pike's  Peak  into  Connecti- 
cut," he  said  half  complainingly,  "  I  reckon  I'd  hev  to  git 
a  crowbar  an'  help.     But  go  slow,  boy,  go  slow  an'  watch 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  45 

the  bushes;  don't  trust  anybody  but  yerself  and  don't 
trust  yerself  out  o'  yer  own  sight.  Ye've  done  well  an' 
ye're  doin'  well,"  he  went  on,  his  anxiety  showing  in  his 
voice.     "  I  don't  want  to  see  ye  do  as  yer  father  did " 

**I  don't  want  to  do  any  better,  Colonel,"  said  Jack 
quietly,  putting  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm. 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel  slowly.     "I  don't  know  ez  ye 

do.     Gawd  bless  him "  and  they  were  silent  for  a 

moment. 

He  stood  at  the  door  until  Jack  was  out  of  sight,  admir- 
ing and  worrying,  for,  although  he  would  not  have 
admitted  that  he  cared  much  for  anyone,  he  loved  Jack 
like  a  father. 

As  for  Gilbert,  he  forgot  his  problem  just  outside  the 
gate,  in  boyish  enthusiasm  at  the  sunset  that  threw  its 
red  radiance  over  the  hill's  summit  and  crowned  the  great 
gray  house  of  his  memories  with  glittering  color.  Even 
if  there  had  been  no  sunset  to  set  his  pulses  thrilling  with 
a  sudden  joy  in  life,  he  would  have  forgotten  the  shops 
and  their  future  when  he  came  in  sight  of  home.  His 
mother  opened  the  door  of  their  modest  cottage  as  soon 
as  he  came  in  sight,  and  stood  watching  him  as  he  hurried 
up  the  walk.  She  was  little  changed.  Gray  hair,  it  is 
true,  sprinkled  the  brown-gray  threads  that  the  years  had 
woven  out  of  peaceful  dream  textures.  There  were 
creases  about  her  mouth  and  eyes,  marks  of  her  calm, 
almost  unceasing  smile,  and  the  tears  she  had  shed  had 
only  made  her  eyes,  still  unhidden  by  glasses,  more 
steady  and  kind.     The  same  musical  voice  greeted  him. 

"The  afternoon  has  gone  very  slowly,  laddie." 

"Oh,  no,  mither,"  laughed  Jack,  putting  his  arm  about 


46  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

her  waist  and  leading  her  into  the  little  dining-room. 
"It's  gone  so  fast  that  I  couldn't  get  to  you  until  it  was 
*clane  gone  intoirely,'  as  Moriarty  says." 

"  That's  the  way  with  you  men,"  she  said  reproachfully, 
after  they  had  seated  themselves  at  the  big  dining  table 
which  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  refused  to  give  up  when  they  left 
the  old  house  and  which  nearly  filled  the  little  room. 
"  Things  to  do  and  folks  to  see,  while  the  women  sit  and 
knit  and  think,  or  sew  and  think,  or  make  beds  and  think 
or  do  nothing  but  think.  Ah,  laddie,  I'm  sorry  for  the 
poor  women  who  have  anything  but  pleasant  thoughts 
like  mine." 

"You  make  your  thoughts  pleasant,  mither,"  said  Jack, 
beaming  at  her  over  the  fine  old  china  and  the  simple 
meal. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert  earnestly.  "I'm  strong 
and  well;  how  many  women  are  that?  Everyone  is  good 
to  me  and  everyone  is  good  to  few  women;  and  then  I 
have  you,  laddie,  and  no  other  woman  has  you.  It's  a 
bonnie  world,"  and  she  smiled  tenderly  at  him. 

"  I  believe  if  you  were  set  alone  on  a  barren  island  you'd 
still  be  happy,"  said  Jack. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  answered  his  mother.  "  But  I'd  have 
pleasant  memories,"  she  added  more  slowly. 

Then,  noticing  with  a  woman's  keen  glance  that  Jack 
looked  tired,  she  broke  off  into  a  recital  of  her  day's  work, 
filling  it  so  full  of  merry  anecdotes  and  clever  insight  into 
the  good  queer  sides  of  people  she  had  seen  that  Gilbert 
was  soon  laughing  heartily.  They  waited  on  each  other, 
each  anticipating  the  other's  wishes,  and  often  she  caught 
him  watching  for  a  hint  of  some  service  to  be  performed. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  47 

and  often  she  gave  the  hint  with  enough  secrecy  to  let  him 
think  he  had  discovered  it  himself.  When  they  were  done 
he  helped  her  to  take  the  dishes  to  the  neat  little  kitchen 
with  its  old-fashioned  sinks  and  modern  gas  stoves. 

*' There,"  she  said,  when  the  last  of  the  fine  old  china 
had  been  stacked  by  the  sink  and  the  last  bits  of  cold 
meat  had  been  put  away,  "I'm  going  to  leave  those 
dishes  until  to-morrow  morning,  for  to-night,  laddie,  is 
father's  night.'' 

Jack  nodded,  and  going  to  a  closet  in  the  sitting-room 
he  brought  forth  a  packet  he  had  taken  from  the  bank 
vault  the  day  before.  Together  they  undid  it,  and,  sit- 
ting on  the  broad  sofa,  they  went  over  the  enclosures  one 
by  one.  There  was  a  daguerreotype  taken  in  winter 
quarters  in  '64,  and  the  central  figure  in  uniform  looked 
much  like  Jack;  there  was  the  discharge  with  twenty-six 
battles  entered  on  it;  and  a  few  letters  which  no  one  but 
Mrs.  Gilbert  had  ever  read;  and  then  in  natural  sequence 
their  marriage  certificate,  a  number  of  notes  from  patients 
who  wrote  their  gratitude  in  lieu  of  payment,  a  packet  of 
unsettled  bills,  an  old  Spanish  knife  which  Jack's  grand- 
father had  given  the  Doctor,  and  many  other  odds  and 
ends,  the  last  of  which  were  some  certificates  of  mining 
stock  and  a  letter  saying  that  the  company  had  failed,  the 
letter  the  Doctor  had  taken  from  the  post-office  twenty 
years  before.     They  went  over  them  silently,  reverently. 

"Why  did  father  buy  the  mining  stock?"  asked  Jack, 
fingering  the  certificates.  He  knew,  but  he  knew  also 
that  she  would  like  to  tell  him. 

"  It  was  for  you,  laddie,"  said  his  mother  quietly.  "  He 
wanted  you  to  be  rich  and  famous." 


48  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"I  wonder  why  he  wished  those  things  for  me,"  said 
Jack  musingly.     "He  never  thought  of  them  himself/' 

"Ah,  that's  where  you're  wrong,"  said  his  mother 
quickly.  "Men,  the  best  of  them,  are  always  wanting  to 
do  what  it  isn't  in  them  to  do.  David  wasn't  the  kind  to 
make  money,  so  down  in  his  heart  he  wanted  to.  He  was 
so  modest  he  shrank  from  seeing  his  name  in  the  paper, 
so  in  his  inmost  soul  he  thought  fame  must  be  a  very  fine 
thing.  It  isn't  the  thing  they  can  put  their  hand  on  that 
most  men  want,  but  something  that's  far  out  of  reach. 
I'm  sometimes  afraid  you're  the  same  at  heart,  laddie.  I 
mind  how  as  a  child  you  always  wanted  the  sugar-bowl 
that  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  table." 

Jack  smiled  rather  guiltily  as  he  thought  of  the  after- 
noon. 

"  But  with  him  it  was  all  for  you.  I  sometimes  think  I 
was  almost  jealous  of  you  and  him  because  you  thought  so 
much  of  each  other.  And  that's  the  big  reason  why  I 
wish  he  was  here  to-night,  to  see  you  as  you  are  now, 
laddie."  And  then,  suddenly,  she  cried  quietly  into  an  old 
lace  handkerchief.  Jack  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders 
and  waited.  After  a  moment  she  looked  up  at  him  and  a 
rainbow  of  a  smile  broke  out  on  the  tear-stained  face. 

"You  won't  care,  laddie,  if  your  mither  has  one  good 
cry  a  year,"  she  said,  "so  long  as  it's  a  happy  one.  Do 
you  mind  how  you  said  you'd  take  care  of  me  and  you  no 
higher  than  that?"  and  she  put  out  her  hand  three  feet 
from  the  floor.  "  Well,  you've  done  it  and  it's  cost  you  a 
deal  of  sacrifice,  and  he'd  be  very  glad." 

"  But  I'm  neither  rich  nor  famous,"  he  said  lightly,  as 
he  began  to  tie  up  the  packet. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


**  Which  are  only  incidental." 

''Wouldn't  you  like  to  live  in  the  old  house,  mither?" 
suggested  Jack  insinuatingly. 

"Well,  I'd  not  say  I  wouldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert  with 
a  sigh.     "  But  this  does  very  well." 

Just  then  the  telephone  bell  rang  and  Jack  answered  it. 
He  came  back  after  a  moment  with  a  thoughtful  look  on 
his  face. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Gilbert  curiously. 

"Only  Billy  McNish  asking  me  not  to  mention  some- 
thing he  spoke  of  this  afternoon." 

"  He's  a  careless,  good  lad,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert.  "  Well? " 
she  asked  after  a  moment. 

"But  he  doesn't  wish  me  to  mention  it,  mither," 
laughed  Jack. 

"He  wouldn't  mind  your  telling  your  mither,"  said 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  "and  if  he  did  he  oughtn't  to  have  told  you. 
"However,"  she  went  on  with  a  sigh,  after  waiting  a 
moment  more  for  Jack  to  surrender,  "you're  probably 
right  to  keep  your  word." 

Jack  did  not  go  to  bed  immediately  in  his  square  front 
bedroom.  He  took  a  pile  of  loose  papers  from  his  worn 
desk  and  studied  over  them  for  nearly  an  hour.  Then  he 
lit  a  pipe,  and  rested  his  long  legs  on  a  chair  opposite  and 
thought,  his  eyelids  half  shut  as  if  to  concentrate  his  gaze 
into  the  future.  And  when  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  and  went  to  bed,  he  thought  he  had  made  up  his 
mind,  although  he  probably  would  not  have  admitted 
even  to  himself  that  he  had  been  influenced  by  the  mem- 
ory of  a  quaint  little  girl,  with  whom  he  had  played  in  the 
old  garden  long  ago. 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  FTER  dinner  one  Sunday  afternoon  two  or  three 

[\  weeks  later,  Mrs.  Gilbert  seemed  restless.  Twice 
-^ — ^  she  went  to  the  front  window  and  twice  she 
returned  with  the  same  remark  to  Jack,  who  sat  smoking 
in  the  back  parlor. 

"You  should  go  out  for  a  walk,  laddie.  Tis  a  fine, 
bright  day." 

Gilbert  smiled  whimsically  at  her  insistence.  It  had 
become  her  habit  on  Sunday  afternoons  recently,  to  send 
him  out  for  walks  or  for  some  other  diversion  while  she 
invariably  remained  alone  at  home. 

"  Will  you  come  along,  mither? "  he  asked,  as  he  arose 
and  lazily  yawned. 

*'No,  no,"  said  his  mother  quickly.  "I'll  stop  here 
and  write  a  letter  or  two." 

Gilbert  breathed  deep  of  the  fresh  spring  air  outside 
and  started  down  the  street  with  long  strides.  Soon, 
however,  he  doubled  back,  and  hurrying  down  along  the 
side  of  the  cottage,  stealthily  keeping  to  the  grass,  he  let 
himself  in  quietly  at  the  side  door.  From  there  he  tip- 
toed through  the  dining-room,  and  listened  to  the  tap- 
tap  of  his  mother's  foot  in  the  next  room — the  regular 
tap-tap  which  meant  that  something  was  interesting  her 
deeply.     Then  he  threw  the  door  open  quickly  and  stepped 

50 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  51 


in,  just  in  time  to  see  her  slip  something  beside  her  in  the 
chair. 

"My,  but  you  startled  me,  laddie  I"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
staring  up  at  him  innocently.  "  And  I  was  just  a-thinking 
of  you." 

For  answer  Jack  leaned  over  her  and  caught  up  a  book 
hidden  away  between  the  folds  of  her  dress  and  the 
chair  arm.  It  was  Dumas— the  wonderful  old  "Monte 
Cristo." 

"I  wanted  to  make  sure  that  I'd  left  you  in  good 
company,"  said  Gilbert,  smiling  boyishly  down  at  his 
mother,  who  seemed  to  be  rather  enjoying  her  guiltiness. 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  think  I'd  come  to  my  second 
childhood,"  she  confessed.  "There's  no  time  for  me  to 
read  all  the  week,  and  I  left  him  last  week  just  where  he'd 
come  back.  Run  on  with  you  now,  for  I  want  to  see 
what  he  does." 

And  Gilbert  "ran  on,"  laughing, remembering  how  he 
had  stayed  up  until  after  three  in  the  morning  some  years 
before  to  find  out  the  very  same  thing. 

"A  fine,  bright  day."  There  was  certainly  no  doubt 
about  that.  The  zest  of  it  went  to  his  head  like  wine  and, 
intoxicated,  he  gave  himself  over  to  the  mere  fugitive  im- 
pressions of  things  as  he  marched  briskly  down  the  long 
hill.  He  felt  about  him  the  tense  quiet  of  the  Sunday; 
even  the  trees  whispered  as  if  they  were  restrained  by  a 
strange  awe,  and  the  birds  sang  single  notes  and  then 
seemed  to  listen  as  if  for  fear  of  punishment  for  a  sacri- 
lege. The  roses  were  out  in  the  old  garden,  for  he  caught 
the  remembered  scent  amid  all  the  confused  fragrance 
that  crept  out  over  Mr.  McNish's  level  green  lawn.    As 


52  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  looked  across  at  Hardy's  house  his  eye  caught  a  flash  of 
red  at  one  of  the  tower  windows,  and  he  looked  away 
quickly,  wondering  vaguely  if  it  might  be  the  little  girl 
who  had  grown  up.  He  saw  a  new  bird's  nest  in  the 
eaves  of  the  Colonel's  porch,  and  laughed  to  himself  as  he 
thought  of  the  irascible  veteran's  probable  language  when 
he,  in  turn,  discovered  it. 

At  the  Center  he  saw  blonde-haired  Miss  Smith,  the 
pretty  typewriter  girl  at  Hardy's,  her  full  figure  showing 
to  its  best  advantage  in  tight-fitting  black,  making  her 
way  to  the  terminal  of  the  trolley  lines  where  a  number  of 
cars  stood,  already  packed  with  people  who  were  out  to 
make  the  most  of  the  holiday  sunshine.  And,  as  he 
walked  on,  he  smiled  so  broadly  that  people  meeting  him 
smiled  unconsciously  as  they  watched  him.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  Colonel's  roughhewn  rules  of  life.  "  When 
ye  find  a  real  man,"  the  Colonel  had  said,  *'  grip  him  hard. 
Ef  he  turns  on  ye,  shoot  him;  ef  he's  straight,  die  fer  him. 
Don't  shoot  yer  mouth  ofj  reg'^ar;  keep  a  lot  o'  ammuni- 
tion and  fire  when  ye  see  the  whites  o'  their  eyes.  Don't 
be  scairt  o'  doin'  anything  except  what  ain't  square,  but 
ef  a  woman  comes  near  ye,  run  like  hell."  Gilbert  always 
remembered  this  last  clause  whenever  he  saw  Gerty 
Smith.  There  was  something  humanly  fascinating  about 
her  that  made  him  realize  the  meaning  of  the  Colonel's 
warning.  "There's  only  two  calamities  open  to  ye,  my 
boy,"  the  veteran  had  continued,  "death  an'  marriage. 
Wait  for  both  until  ye're  old  an'  philosophical."  Surely 
he,  John  Gilbert,  needed  little  advice  about  marriage. 
Here  he  was  at  twenty-nine  with  his  heart  as  unscathed 
as  it  was  innocent.     "Troubles  enough  of  my  own,"  he 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  53 

muttered  good-humoredly  to  himself,  "without  adding  on 
somebody's  else,  even  if  there  were  a  somebody  else." 

''Good-day,  Mister  Gilbert." 

Jack  looked  up  to  see  the  pompous  bob  from  a  pudgy, 
clean-shaven  person  clothed  in  a  startlingly  bright  suit  of 
large  checks.     The  loud  voice  continued: 

"Splendid  weather  for  the  President's  shoe  blackin'. 
Still  use  it!"  The  man  looked  down  proudly  at  his  shin- 
ing shoes.     "  Reckon  you'll  never  forget  my  blackin',  eh?  " 

"Certainly  made  an  impression  on  me  that  night," 
laughed  Jack  as  he  moved  on.  It  was  the  street  fakir  of 
Common  Council  night,  whose  commercial  possibilities 
Mr.  Tubb,  who  ran  a  huge  night  lunch  wagon  in  addition 
to  his  store,  had  been  quick  to  realize;  and  who,  the  morn- 
ing after,  had  given  up  without  any  seeming  reluctance 
his  precarious  sales  of  Diamond  Shoe  Blacking  to  put  on 
a  white  apron  behind  the  counter  of  the  " Excelsior"  lunch 
cart.  Peter  Lumpkin,  for  such  was  his  name,  was  already 
a  town  character  and  the  lunch  cart  was  doing  a  thriving 
business.  He  had  merely  transferred  his  performance 
from  one  wagon  to  another,  and  often  now  the  mega- 
phonic  voice  re-echoed  up  and  down  Main  Street  and  put 
even  passers-by  in  good  humor. 

Soon  Gilbert  left  the  long,  curving  street  for  the  road 
that  led  to  Clear  Lake.  It  had  been  an  aimless  choice, 
and  now  he  drifted  on  beside  the  dusty  roadway,  where 
huge  sumach  bushes  stood  out  between  him  and  the  sun, 
and  where  golden-rod  twisted  about  his  ankles.  A 
crowded  electric  car  went  spinning  by  him,  and  Simpson, 
his  superintendent  at  Hardy's,  leaned  out  and  waved  to 
him.      And  a  few  minutes  later  Gilshannon  of  the  News 


54  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

drew  up  alongside  him  on  a  bicycle,  and  rode  back  and 
forth  across  the  road  loafingly,  that  he  might  tell  the  big 
fellow  some  of  the  day's  happenings.  It  was  a  bully  good 
world,  after  all,  Gilbert  thought,  as  he  tramped  on  alone 
after  the  reporter  had  pushed  forward  once  more. 

Looking  up  some  minutes  later,  he  saw  half-a-dozen 
branches,  heavlV  laden  with  early  astrakhan  apples,  lean- 
ing over  the  roadside.  With  an  unreasoning  boyish  elation 
he  scrambled  up  the  high  bank  and  over  a  fence  rail  into 
somebody's  property,  and  promptly  climbed  to  the  first 
broad  crotch  above.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  sud- 
denly climbed  back  into  his  boyhood  as  he  filled  his  pock- 
ets with  the  round  ripe  fruit,  and  he  wondered  joyfully  if 
the  owner  would  not  suddenly  appear  and  chase  him 
down  the  Sunday-silent  road.  He  was  so  deep  in  his 
fancies,  indeed,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  hoof-beats  or  the 
rumble  of  the  wheels  until  they  were  almost  beneath  him. 
Then  he  crouched  back  suddenly  and  the  bough  creaked 
imder  his  heavy  weight,  and  one  shining  apple  was  shaken 
from  the  end  of  the  limb  and  dropped  in  Clare  Hardy's 
lap.  Startled,  she  glanced  up  straight  at  the  tree,  straight 
at  him  it  seemed,  and  then  disappeared,  with  Billy  McNish 
who  was  busy  with  the  horses,  behind  the  partly  thrown 
back  buggy  top.  Gilbert  watched  the  retreating  carriage 
until  it  disappeared  behind  the  curve  beyond.  Then  he 
clambered  down  and  over  the  fence  and  into  the  road 
again,  laughing  to  himself  over  his  narrow  escape.  She 
couldn't  have  seen  him,  he  assured  himself  as  he  strolled 
along,  munching  at  one  of  the  apples,  that  tasted  sweeter 
because  it  had  been  taken  in  the  old  boy's  way.  And 
Billy,  bless  him,  hadn't  even  turned  his  head.     Then  he 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  55 

thought  of  that  fat  pink  apple  that  lay  half  hidden  in  the 
robe  over  her  knees.  He  had  given  it  to  her,  he  mused, 
not  as  plain  John  Gilbert  who  worked  in  her  father's 
shops  to  Miss  Hardy,  but  as  Jack,  the  small  fool  of  a  boy, 
to  the  little  girl  over  the  hedge.  At  any  rate,  he  decided 
with  a  chuckle,  he  had  kept  his  distance  in  presenting  the 
gift.  But  soon  his  fancies  grew  lazy.  He  listened  to  the 
crooning  of  the  insects  and  the  chirping  of  the  birds,  and 
he  walked  on  and  on  in  a  waking  dream. 

Clear  Lake  lies  in  a  hollow  between  the  hills  about  five 
miles  from  Hampstead  Center.  Its  smooth  surface  mir- 
rors the  rugged  evergreen  heights  that  jut  out  above  it, 
and  the  place,  when  people  are  there,  is  haunted  with 
weird  echoes.  The  Street  Railway  Company  recently 
extended  its  lines  to  the  lake  side,  and  a  more  or  less  pre- 
tentious casino  was  built  at  the  terminal.  The  road 
around  the  lake  was  improved,  and  cheap  board  pagodas 
were  placed  here  and  there  at  the  water's  edge.  The  old 
roundabout  path  up  to  the  top  of  the  highest  crag  of  the 
ridge  at  the  left,  ''The  Lookout,"  as  it  was  called,  was 
left  untouched,  but  a  new,  more  direct  climb  was  made, 
straight  up  the  face  of  the  rock,  with  rough  wood  stairs 
here  and  there  to  bridge  over  the  impassable  places.  Of 
the  crowds  that  came  out  from  Hampstead  on  bright 
Sundays  and  holidays,  however,  few  lost  their  breath  and 
strained  their  muscles  for  the  wonderful  view  from  "The 
Lookout."  The  vast  majority  were  content  with  mild 
flirtations  along  the  level,  winding  road,  or  with  seats  in 
the  pagodas,  or  with  the  revelries  in  the  boats  or  the  bowl- 
ing alley  or  the  swings  or  around  the  open-air  lunch 
tables.     It  was  toward  ''The  Lookout,"  therefore,  that 


56  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Gilbert,  whom  the  gUttering  of  the  lake  through  the  trees 
and  the  cries  of  many  children  had  suddenly  awakened 
from  his  dreams,  was  directing  his  way  when  he  was  way- 
laid by  Jimmy  O'Rourke.  Jimmy  was  an  office-boy  at 
Hubbard's  factory  and  a  person  of  huge  enthusiasms. 
Gilbert  was  one  of  Jimmy's  enthusiasms,  partly  because 
he  played  a  good  game  of  baseball  in  the  factory  league, 
partly  because  he  was  large  and  strong  while  Jimmy  him- 
self was,  in  his  own  language,  '*a  sawed-off  little  runt," 
and  partly  because  Gilbert  was  the  only  grown  man  he 
knew  who  treated  him  with  the  respect  his  Irish  blood 
told  him  he  ought  to  demand  from  everyone. 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here,  Jimmy?  "  asked  Gilbert, 
as  the  boy  tried  laboriously  to  keep  step  with  the  big 
fellow's  long  strides. 

"Oh,  I'm  just  lukin'  'em  over,  sir."  Jimmy  flicked  the 
ash  from  his  cheap  cigarette  with  self-conscious  cynicism. 

"Looking  whom  over?" 

"Why,  de  girrls,  av  coorse.  Say,  dere  perty  cheesy, 
most  av  thim,  but  dere's  wan  peach.  Dere  she  is  now." 
Jimmy  pointed  toward  a  pagoda  only  a  few  yards  away, 
and  his  voice  sank  into  a  whisper.  "De  wan  in  black. 
She  hits  de  typewriter  down  at  your  place.  Say,"  Jimmy 
stopped  and  stared  up  at  Gilbert  with  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion.   "  Why  don't  ye  get  next?  " 

"Think  it  would  be  a  good  idea,  Jimmy?"  Gilbert's 
face  was  perfectly  sober. 

"Yep,"  returned  the  boy  judiciously,  "an'  you'd  win 
out  hands  down.  Everybody  looks  up  when  she  goes  by, 
all  right.  Why,  say,  I  was  up  to  de  bank  de  oder  day — 
Boss  sent  me  up  fer  some  papers — and  she  was  dere.    An' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  57 

say,  de  Mayor  was  a  lukin'  at  her  somethin'  more'n  busi- 
ness-like, you  bet.  I  cud  see  troo  de  glass  all  right.  He 
fooled  me  all  right  about  de  papers,  tho'.  He  sealed  'em 
up  so  tight  an'  luked  at  me  so  hand,  I  was  lukin'  fer 
somethin'  interestin',  but  it  wasn't  nothing  but  a  lot  o' 
figures  on  Hardy's  station'ry." 

"You  seem  to  know  pretty  nearly  everything  that's 
going  on."  Gilbert  stood  now  at  the  beginning  of  the 
ascent  to  "The  Lookout." 

"I  keep  me  eyes  open,  you  bet."  Jimmy's  tone  was 
full  of  conscious  pride.  "Goin'  up,  sir?  I  may  see  you 
later,  but  now  I  got  a  feller  to  meet  on  de  barrel  business." 
Jimmy  sold  both  old  barrels  and  newspapers  in  his  leisure 
moments. 

Gilbert  climbed  slowly  the  first  long  flight  of  wooden 
steps.  Once  in  among  the  trees  of  the  hillside  the  air 
grew  cool.  The  odor  of  fresh  evergreens  mingled  with 
the  scent  of  the  wet  green  leaves,  that  dangled  in  the 
waters  of  the  mountain  brook  gurgling  down  over  its 
rocky  bed  to  the  lake.  From  the  top  of  the  steps  he 
emerged  upon  an  upward  stretch  of  smooth  sod,  treach- 
erously slippery  with  pine  needles  and  moss,  where  a 
thick  sprinkling  of  trees  alone  kept  him  from  slipping 
back  with  every  few  steps  toward  the  edge  of  the  cliff  he 
had  just  ascended.  Prodding  his  heels  deep  into  the 
earth  and  pulling  himself  along  by  an  occasional  tree 
trunk,  he  toiled  steadily  upward.  Now  and  then  he 
paused  to  get  his  breath  and  to  wipe  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead.  He  was  deep  in  thought  now,  for 
Jimmy  had  turned  him  back  from  the  peaceful  Sunday 
afternoon  and  its  vagrant  fancies  to  the  shops  and  the 


58  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

daily  duties  of  life.  It  was  not  until  he  reached  the  crag 
beyond,  therefore,  that  he  noticed  that  the  flight  of  steps, 
which  usually  reached  up  its  steep  side,  was  gone.  The 
Winter  snows  and  the  Spring  rains  had  evidently  rotted 
the  wood  and  loosened  the  supports,  for  the  framework 
had  fallen  and  lay,  a  tangled  mess  of  rotten  debris,  in  the 
brook  which  here  ran  along  the  base  of  the  cliff.  A  few 
steps  of  the  lower  portion  leaned  in  a  straggling  zig-zag 
against  the  rock's  face,  and  Gilbert,  steadying  them  with 
some  small  boulders,  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  wreck. 
Reaching  upward  he  found  that  his  hands  were  still  three 
or  four  feet  from  the  upper  ledge.  He  knew  the  place 
well.  There  was  no  way  around,  for  the  cliff  was  a  long 
barrier,  and  the  woods  beneath  it,  a  wilderness. 

Turning  back  he  found  a  soft  bed  of  pine  needles  at  the 
left  of  the  path,  from  which  a  large  evergreen  cut  off  the 
edge  of  sun  which  still  gleamed  over  the  ledge  above. 
There,  pulling  another  of  his  stolen  apples  from  a  pocket, 
he  threw  himself  down  at  full  length.  He  decided  philo- 
sophically that  he  was  glad  the  steps  were  gone.  Above 
there  were  distractions:  the  broad  view  with  its  changing 
colors  on  hill  and  water  and,  very  likely,  people  as  well, 
who  had  climbed  up  by  the  old  path.  Here  he  could  think 
quietly.  There  was  one  joy  greater  than  being  with  peo- 
ple when  one  wished  to  be  with  people,  he  assured  him- 
self, and  that  was  to  be  alone  when  one  wished  to  be 
alone.  Here  the  intermittent  hammer  of  a  woodpecker 
in  the  thicket  at  his  left  and,  from  far  below,  the  voices 
of  men  singing  on  the  water  alone  reached  him. 

Hardy  stationery  filled  with  figures  and  sent  from 
Brett  to  Mr.  Hubbard.    Jimmy  O'Rourke  had  thought 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  59 

the  thing  innocent  enough.  Perhaps  it  was.  Gilbert 
shook  his  head  over  a  particularly  large  bite  of  his  apple 
and  felt  certain  that  the  thing  was  not  innocent.  Hub- 
bard was  finding  out  how  matters  stood  with  Hardy  & 
Son.  Brett  was  secretary  of  the  company  and  could  tell 
him  much  that  he  might  wish  to  know.  There  were  some 
things,  however,  that  only  Hardy  knew,  things  that  were 
locked  up  in  Hardy's  head  and  Hardy's  desk  and  Hardy's 
personal  correspondence.  And  directly  there  entered  this 
girl,  this  Gerty  Smith  at  whom  everybody  looked  when 
she  passed,  as  Jimmy  declared.  She  was  Hardy's  sten- 
ographer. Was  Brett  that  kind  of  a  man?  Gilbert  asked 
himself  the  question.  Had  he  any  right  to  think  that  the 
girl  was  untrustworthy?  Was  it  any  of  his  business, 
anyhow?  He  raised  himself  on  his  left  hand  and  sent  the 
apple  core  whirling  straight  at  a  tree  about  twenty  yards 
down  the  way  he  had  come.  It  smashed  up  against  the 
trunk  and  fell  in  pieces.  As  it  struck,  Gilbert  was  startled 
by  a  suppressed  exclamation  from  above  and  behind  him. 
He  half  turned  and  leaned  out  inquisitively  beyond  the 
edge  of  his  evergreen  shelter.  Then  he  pulled  himself  up 
to  a  sitting  posture  and  brushed  his  clothes  frantically  as 
he  slowly  rose  to  his  feet.  When  he  stepped  out  from 
behind  the  evergreen  he  was  conscious  that  his  face  was 
flushed  and  that  his  heart  was  beating  more  rapidly  than 
it  should. 

"Oh,"  said  a  voice  with  that  blurring  richness  that 
Gilbert  remembered  well,  ''it  is  Mr.  Gilbert." 

She  had  turned  back  as  if  to  run  away  from  the  sudden 
appearance  of  man  in  the  silent  place,  but  now  she  re- 
turned to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.     She  made  a  rare  picture 


60  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

as  she  stood  there,  her  lithe,  slender  figure  in  its  simple 
shirt-waist  and  short  gray  outing  skirt,  her  dark,  almost 
olive  cheeks  brightened  with  an  unwonted  flush,  her 
black  eyes  sober  but  her  full  lips  parted  in  a  faint  sugges- 
tion of  a  smile,  and  strands  of  the  wind-tossed,  jet-black 
hair  sweeping  her  forehead.  Her  arms  were  filled  with 
laurel,  its  pink-tipped  blossoms  creeping  up  caressingly 
about  her  neck.  Behind  her  lay  the  background  of  dark 
green  moving  idly  in  the  breeze  above,  and  at  her  feet 
the  perpendicular  gray  rock. 

"  Be  careful  how  you  step.  Miss  Hardy,"  warned  Gilbert 
involuntarily.     "The  moss  is  slippery." 

The  black  eyebrows  almost  met  in  a  frown,  and  the  girl, 
with  a  slight  toss  of  her  head,  took  a  short  step  nearer  the 
edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  I  sha'n't  slip,"  she  said  decisively; "  but  will  you  please 
tell  me  how  I  can  get  down?" 

"I  don't  know."  Gilbert  was  smiling.  **I've  been 
wondering  how  I  was  going  to  get  up." 

Neither  the  remark  nor  the  smile  seemed  to  please  the 
girl. 

"That's  really  not  half  as  important,"  she  remarked 
with  some  irritation.  "Billy — Mr.  McNish,  I  should  say 
— and  I  had  an  argument  up  on  "The  Lookout"  as  to 
which  was  the  better  way  to  come  down  and  I — well,  I've 
either  to  come  this  way  now  or  give  in.  There  must  be 
some  way,"  she  said  petulantly. 

Gilbert  looked  about  him,  thinking  rapidly  to  find 
some  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Then,  shaking  his  head, 
he  stared  at  the  blank  face  of  the  rock,  noting  its  slight 
slope  toward  the  top  and  the  roughness  of  its  surface, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  Gl 

which  here  and  there  showed  short  jagged  prominences 
and  indentations. 

"I  should  think/'  called  the  girl  tauntingly,  "that  a 
man  who  can  climb  other  people's  apple  trees  might " 

But  Gilbert  had  made  up  his  mind.  He  mounted  the 
steps  that  he  had  already  made  steady,  and  caught  almost 
recklessly  at  the  first  protruding  bits  of  rock  that  might 
serve  for  the  grip  of  his  hand  or  for  a  foothold. 

"Oh,"  whispered  the  girl,  catching  her  breath.  "I 
didn't  really  mean  it." 

Slowly  Jack  pulled  himself  upward,  his  teeth  set  and 
his  eyes  alight  with  the  struggle  of  it.  And  it  was  a 
struggle.  Crevices  that  had  looked  to  be  deep  from  the 
path  were  narrow  and  slippery  now  as  he  tried  them,  and 
jagged  pieces  of  rock  that  seemed  large  enough  for  his 
whole  hand  he  found  now  only  catching  the  tips  of  his 
fingers.  Once  he  slipped,  and  a  sibilant  drawing  in  of 
breath  above  him  helped  him  to  catch  again  the  grip  he 
had  lost.  Once  he  stopped  for  breath,  his  great  body 
stretched  like  a  huge  spider  across  the  gray  side  of  the 
rock.  But  at  last  one  big  hand,  its  fingers  bleeding  from 
one  or  two  surface  cuts,  grasped  the  upper  ledge,  and 
a  moment  later  he  dragged  himself  over  the  moss-soft- 
ened edge. 

"I— I  didn't— think— you— saw  me,"  he  declared, 
breathing  hard. 

"Saw  you — why " 

"  In  the  apple  tree,  I  mean." 

"Oh." 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"  I'll  get  my  breath  in  a  minute." 


62  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"You — you  oughtn't  to  have  done  it." 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  But  the  apples  looked  mighty 
good.  He'll  never  miss  'em — the  man  that  owns  the 
tree,  I  mean." 

"  But  I  meant — this." 

Clare  Hardy  pointed  down  over  the  cliff. 

"It  was  foolhardy,"  she  went  on  severely,  "and, 
besides,  it  didn't  help  me  a  bit.  It  was  only  taking  a 
dare.     You  are  strong,  though,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

Gilbert's  breath  was  coming  more  easily  now,  and  he 
leaned  over,  examining  closely  the  rock  he  had  climbed. 
Then  he  turned  and  slid  down  over  the  edge,  digging  his 
feet  in  until  they  caught  and  he  clung  there,  his  broad 
shoulders  still  above  the  upper  ledge. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  gasped  the  girl. 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  down.  Sit  down,  please," 
ordered  Gilbert,  "right  at  the  edge,  with  your  back  to 
me." 

"No,"  the  girl  shook  her  head,  rebellious  in  her  heart 
at  the  command  of  his  voice.  As  she  looked  at  him, 
however,  she  thought  she  saw  a  critical,  quizzical  smile  in 
his  gray  eyes. 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  she  declared  as  if  in  answer.  Then 
she  hesitated,  and  a  tide  of  pink  ran  into  her  cheeks. 

"Of  course  not." 

She  stared  at  him  questioningly  for  another  minute. 
It  was  absurd,  she  told  herself.  She  could  not  stand  there 
forever  with  this  big  man  smiling  up  at  her,  and  she  would 
not  go  back  up  to  "  The  Lookout, "  leaving  him  there  hang- 
ing to  the  rock.  It  was  evident  from  that  set  jaw  of  his 
that  he  would  wait  until  he  had  his  way.    And  there  was 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  63 

Billy.  She  surrendered  quickly  and  sat  down  as  he  had 
bade  her.  With  a  last  look  backward  at  the  rough  steps 
he  must  use,  he  put  his  arm  about  her  waist  and  swung  her 
clear.  The  descent  would  be  slower  than  the  upward 
climbing  had  been,  and  harder,  he  knew.  The  girl's 
weight  quickly  became  like  lead  to  his  straining  arm,  and, 
with  only  one  hand  free,  he  was  forced  to  lie  flat  on  the 
slightly  sloping  rock  and  to  make  his  steps  short  and  sure. 
As  he  groped  his  way  downward  he  felt  stray  wisps  of  her 
hair  against  his  neck,  and  he  realized  that  her  face  was 
pressed  against  his  shoulder.  She  had  caught  one  down- 
ward glimpse  and,  suddenly  frightened,  had  blotted  it 
all  out  against  his  protecting  arm.  He  felt  a  sudden 
thrill  as  the  sense  of  the  clinging  girl's  nearness  came  to 
him.  An  elemental  something  within  him  made  his  arm 
tighten  about  her,  but  he  did  not  realize  it  until  his  toes 
touched  the  wood  of  the  steps.  Then  his  grasp  loosened 
mechanically,  and  he  drew  away  to  let  her  pass  down  be- 
fore him,  with  a  deep  red  in  his  cheeks  that  was  not  alto- 
gether the  red  of  exertion. 

"  I  think  I  should  know  better  than  to  ever  dare  you 
again."  Clare  Hardy's  cheeks  were  flushed,  also,  as  she 
stood  looking  up  at  him  from  the  bottom  of  the  steps. 
"  Now— I  think— I'll  hurry  on  and  find— Mr.  McNish.  '  It's 
— it's  only  to  keep  one's  nerves  at  a  strain,'  you  know." 

Gilbert  nodded  as  she  turned  away. 

" '  And,  baffled,  get  up  and  begin  again.'  " 

She  started  slightly  with  surprise.  He  knew  something 
of  Browning  then,  this  man  who  worked  in  her  father's 
shops.  Then  the  mark  of  the  unerringly  thrown  core  on 
a  tree  before  her  caught  her  eye. 


64  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"And,  oh/'  she  called  out,  turning  back,  her  eyes  danc- 
ing, "  I  meant  to  tell  you.     I  liked  my  apple." 

"It  was  stolen,"  he  retorted.  He  was  still  standing  at 
the  top  of  the  steps,  and  as  she  hurried  on  down  the  path 
she  could  still  see  the  picture  of  the  large,  broad-shoul- 
dered, awkward  figure  standing  out  against  the  great 
gray  rock,  with  the  brook  and  the  trees  and  the  sky  for  a 
frame,  and  it  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  grim  strength, 
eternal  determination,  immovable  firmness. 

For  some  minutes  after  she  disappeared^how  long  he 
did  not  know — Gilbert  stood  where  she  had  left  him,  on 
the  top  of  the  steps,  his  back  to  the  rock.  It  had  been 
only  a  few  seconds  ago,  it  seemed  to  him,  since  he  was 
sprawling  in  the  shelter  of  that  evergreen  yonder.  He 
went  over  and  over  again  each  detail  of  their  conversa- 
tion. He  felt  again  the  scraping  of  the  rock.  He  remem- 
bered— yes,  the  whole  thing  had  been  foolhardy.  He  had 
been  dared  by  a  girl's  whim  and  yet,  he  smiled  to  himself, 
he  was  entirely  glad  that  he  had  done  it.  She  was  not  so 
different  from  the  little  girl  of  the  old  garden  after  all, 
and  she  liked  the  apple. 

The  melody  of  a  popular  song,  shrilly  whistled  with  the 
disjointed  rhythm  of  scanty  breath,  from  the  path  below 
warned  him,  and  he  had  scarcely  descended  a  step  or  two 
before  Jimmy  O'Rourke  appeared  at  the  turn  below. 
The  melody  ceased  instantly,  and  in  its  place  came  a  long 
whistle  that  descended  an  octave  in  surprise. 

"Hello,"  called  Jimmy,  as  he  came  panting  up  the 
incline.  **Say,  ye  luk  like  Umslop-and-so-forth  about 
to  break  de  sacred  stone. — Did  ye  ever  read  Allan  Qua- 
termain? — Only  he  was  a  nigger.     Say,"  he  rattled  on, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  65 

''who  d'ye  tink  I  just  saw?  Miss  Hardy.  Sure  thing. 
An'  she  near  slipped  down.  Say,"  Jimmy  grew  confi- 
dential, "she's  de  goods.  She  kin  travel  on  my  ticket  as 
fer  as  it  goes.  Say,  she  bowed  to  me.  She  did.  Dat's 
a  fac'." 

Gilbert  looked  at  the  boy  with  a  sober,  almost  anxious 
face.     He  was  bathing  his  bruised  fingers  in  the  brook. 

"Jimmy,"  he  remarked,  "I'm  a  fool." 

"Whatcher  talkin'  about?"  scowled  Jimmy. 

"I  ought  to  have  gone  down  with  her,  that's  all." 

Light  suddenly  broke  in  upon  Jimmy  as  he  noticed 
the  broken  stairway. 

"  'Course — you  seen  her  too.  But  say,  what's  de  mat- 
ter wid  yer  clothes,  an'  who  busted  de  staircase,  an' " 

"If  an  elephant  chases  a  monkey  up  a  match  stick," 
drawled  Gilbert,  "who  owns  the  farm?  Jimmy,  I'm 
going  home." 

Jimmy  O'Rourke,  frankly  puzzled,  frowned  up  at  the 
big  man. 

"Say,  I'll  go  wid  ye,"  he  said  at  last,  judiciously. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   DROWNING    OF    A    DISAPPOINTMENT 

WHEN  the  door  closed  behind  his  stenographer, 
Mr.  Hardy  opened  a  lower  drawer  in  his  desk, 
and  helped  himself  from  a  small  flask  and 
glass  he  kept  secreted  there  under  lock  and  key.  Then  he 
lit  the  stub  of  a  partly  smoked  cigar,  rang  her  bell  once 
more,  and  wrote  his  name  busily  three  of  four  times  across 
a  blank  sheet  of  paper.  He  was  too  occupied  to  look  up 
when  she  appeared. 

"You  needn't  open  my  mail  for  me  after  this,  Miss 
Smith.'* 

The  stenographer  grimaced  at  his  broad  back. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  sweetly.  "Of  course  I  only  did  it 
to  help  you." 

"I  know,"  nodded  Mr.  Hardy,  "but  I'll  do  it  for  my- 
self from  now  on." 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  he  leaned  back  thoughtfully. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  cannot  bear  a  pretty 
woman's  ridicule,  and  Miss  Gerty  Smith,  during  her  eight 
months  at  Hardy  &  Son's,  had  almost  terrorized  him  at 
times  with  her  pert  smile  that  was  always  half  sneer. 
This  order  about  his  mail  had  been  given  not  because  he 
was  in  the  least  suspicious  of  Miss  Smith.  Mr.  Hardy 
had  never  been  suspicious  of  women.  He  had  always 
looked  upon  them  as  quite  too  insignificant  to  require 

66 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  67 

watching.  It  was  rather  because  he,  being  an  old-fash- 
ioned business  man,  Hked  to  do  everything  himself. 
There  was  even  a  certain  childish  joy  about  slitting  the 
envelope  edges  and  wondering  what  was  going  to  be 
inside. 

A  certain  matter  might  be  mentioned  in  his  mail  at  this 
particular  time,  also,  about  which  he  meant  no  one  to 
know;  and  this  feeling  was  of  a  piece  with  the  pride  that 
had  led  him  in  the  beginning  into  the  matter  itself. 
Briefly,  he  had  found  the  factory  in  need  of  ready  money. 
There  were  large  sums  owed  on  the  books  which  would 
more  than  meet  the  bills  that  bothered  him,  but  he  never 
had  made  anyone  wait  even  a  day  for  money  owed  by 
Hardy  &  Son.  This  was  business  sense  as  well  as  pride, 
but  his  feeling  about  his  large  surplus — the  feeling  that 
had  kept  him  for  years  from  touching  that  pile  of  gold  for 
any  purpose  whatever — was  pride  pure  and  simple,  which 
at  last  had  made  the  surplus  a  personal  fetich.  To 
obtain  the  ready  money,  therefore,  he  had  sold  the  com- 
pany's notes  in  New  York.  He  had  not  asked  permission 
of  his  directors.  Hardy  &  Son's  directors  met  only  when 
they  were  elected  and  re-elected.  The  money  he  had 
expected  was  coming  in,  and  he  was  certain  that  he  could 
meet  the  notes  when  they  came  due.  He  still  had  three 
weeks  to  make  up  the  total  amount.  He  hoped,  how- 
ever, that  no  one  in  Hampstead  or  among  the  trade 
would  hear  of  it.  It  was  the  first  time  since  the  early 
days  of  Hardy  &  Son  that  he  had  found  himself  so  strait- 
ened financially. 

The  fact  did  not  affect  his  confidence  in  the  shops,  how- 
ever.    Sooner  or  later  these  West  bury  people,  who  had 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


pressed  selling  prices  down  almost  to  cost,  would  find  their 
money  gone  and  they  would  give  up  the  losing  fight;  and 
then  Hardy  &  Son  would  rise  again,  prosperous  and  tri- 
umphant, as  it  always  had  risen  over  the  obstacles  of  the 
past.  His  flabby  red  face  lost  its  almost  perpetual  frown 
as  he  thought  of  the  eventual  failure  of  this  Westbury 
concern. 

Samuel  Hardy  was  one  of  those  men  who  train  them- 
selves to  look  upon  life  as  a  kind  of  barbaric  fight  for 
supremacy;  a  fight  in  which  the  joy  of  victory  is  made 
keener  by  the  humiliation  and  distress  of  those  who  are 
defeated.  Winning  of  itself  was  to  him  justification  for 
any  course,  and  to  the  men  who  went  down  in  failure  he 
always  applied  the  same  dogma:  "Served  him  right." 
Whether  the  men  opposed  to  him  fought  courageously  or 
not  interested  him  little.  The  result  alone  was  important 
— winning  or  losing.  There  was  nothing  of  the  sports- 
man about  him.  As  he  sat  at  his  desk  now  he  heard  from 
beyond  many  closed  doors  the  whirr  and  hum  of  machin- 
ery, the  crash  of  heavy  drops,  the  thudding  of  distant 
drills,  the  scraping  murmur  and  regular  clicking  of  a 
hundred  lathes  and  automatic  machines,  the  rattle  and 
thump  of  old-fashioned  foot  presses  mingling  with  the 
noise  of  great  power  presses  like  the  purring  of  immense 
cats;  a  weird  mass  of  sound,  gigantic,  chaotic.  These 
were  his  single  joy  and  inspiration.  They  formed  to  him 
a  huge  parade  of  power:  bands  playing,  the  multitude 
shouting,  and  the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  an  army  march- 
ing at  his  command.  He  had  formed  these  regiments  of 
men  and  machines;  he  had  drilled  them,  marshaled  them, 
led  them  day  after  day  and  year  after  year.     There  had 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


been  mutinies,  of  course — whole  lines  of  machines  that 
had  refused  to  work  and  men  who  had  struck  for  larger 
wages  and  for  shorter  hours — but  he  had  always  beaten 
them  back  into  line. 

Through  the  window  the  warm  June  air,  scented  with 
wild-flower  fragrance  from  the  field  on  which  he  meant 
some  day  to  build  an  additional  shop,  brought  its  mes- 
sage of  peace,  but  he  heard  only  the  striving  cries  of  a  gang 
of  yard  workmen  below,  and  the  clang  of  the  iron  they 
were  moving.  He  was  a  man  who  had  refused  the  happi- 
ness that  life  offers,  and  who  had  tried  to  replace  it  with  a 
happiness  he  manufactured  for  himself. 

From  superintendent  to  imder-age  boys,  whom  he 
smuggled  into  the  mill,  nearly  everyone  disliked  "Sam" 
Hardy  and  feared  him.  The  sound  of  his  step,  which 
every  workman  knew  as  well  as  he  knew  the  old,  frowning 
face,  meant  for  each  to  work  the  machine  to  its  utmost, 
with  head  and  shoulders  bent  and  eyes  on  the  task,  imtil 
the  echo  of  the  steps  died  away;  and  then  to  breathe 
again  and  to  take  things  easily  and  to  curse  "  the  old  man  " 
to  a  neighbor  while  the  machine  took  care  of  itself.  Trav- 
eling men  in  the  moderate-priced  hotels  to  which  he  sent 
them,  either  sneered  or  trembled,  according  to  their  nat- 
ural habit  in  the  face  of  danger,  when  they  found  his  letters 
at  the  desk.  And  Moriarty  was  not  the  only  man  upon 
whose  patents  Hardy  had  infringed  when  he  was  certain 
that  the  patentee  had  too  little  money  to  take  the  matter 
into  the  courts.  The  case  of  Moriarty  had  been  partic- 
ularly hard,  however,  because  the  little  Irishman  had 
served  Hardy  well  for  many  years,  and  he  was  now  fight- 
ing an  unequal  fight  against  his  old  employer,  who,  with 


70  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

infinitely  larger  facilities,  had  paralleled  every  line  of 
Moriarty's  manufacture.  Moriarty  considered  it  to  be 
personal  spite,  but  he  was  mistaken.  It  was  what  Hardy, 
along  with  many  others,  called  "business," — a  synonym 
with  them  for  "any  way  to  win." 

Mr.  Hardy  was  thinking  of  Moriarty,  and  of  a  threat  the 
hot-headed  little  Irishman  had  made  the  last  time  they 
had  met,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  there 
entered  a  pursy,  perspiring  person  who  seemed  to  be 
irritated  by  a  sei^se  of  his  own  importance.  Mr.  Hardy 
recognized  him  as  the  Boston  factory  expert,  who  had 
been  so  persistent  and  so  voluble  with  promises  that,  a 
week  or  two  before.  Hardy  had  given  him  a  chance  "to 
improve  the  system  and  to  perfect  the  economy" — this 
was  the  expert's  high-sounding  phrase— of  Hardy  &  Son. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Hardy's  keen,  hard 
eyes  had  disconcerted  many  who  came  with  juster  cause, 
but  the  newcomer  was  too  angry  to  notice  them. 

"A  good  deal  is  the  matter,"  he  sputtered.  It  is  a 
strange  fact  that  people  who  think  that  their  dignity  has 
been  trifled  with,  almost  always  "sputter,"  and  so  forfeit 
all  claim  to  the  dignity  they  believe  they  possess.  Petti- 
ness almost  always  unmasks  itself.  "I  can't  stand  the 
impertinence  and  the  interference  of  your  subordinates, 
sir." 

The  visitor  drew  in  his  breath  sharply  and  then  exhaled 
slowly,  blowing  out  his  cheeks  as  if  by  way  of  exhaust  for 
his  injured  feelings. 

"Well?"  interjected  Mr.  Hardy  shortly. 

"I  moved  some  machines  in  the  finishing  room  this 
morning  to  try  an  experiment  which  I  think  will  vastly 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  71 

increase  the  efficiency  of  the  room.  I  hadn't  had  them 
changed  an  hour,  sir,  when  that  young  Gilbert  came  in 
and  looked  around  and  shouted  out :  *  Who  moved  those 
machines?*  I  remarked  that  I  had  moved  them,  and  he 
said :  '  Move  'em  back  to  where  you  got  'em,  and  do  it 
quick.'  I  said  in  a  perfectly  gentlemanly  way  that  I 
wanted  them  to  stay  there  until  to-morrow.  And  would 
you  believe  it,  Mr.  Hardy,  that  common  workman  came 
up  to  me  and  threatened  me.  *Who  are  you,'  he  said, 
'to  move  my  machines  around?' — 'his  machines,'  do  you 
hear,  Mr.  Hardy?  '  Now,  you  move  'em  back,  and  within 
half  an  hour,  or  I'll  take  you  by  your  neck  and  your  legs 
and  throw  you  out  of  the  shop.'  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
Mr.  Hardy?" 

Mr.  Hardy  looked  musingly  into  space,  while  the  ex- 
pert from  Boston,  breathing  hard,  waited  for  a  vindica- 
tion and  for  the  reprimand  or  the  dismissal  of  the  work- 
man Gilbert.  The  expert  did  not  know  that  his  moving 
the  machines  had  delayed  important  work  that  was  being 
pushed  through  to  fill  rush  orders.  His  only  thought  was 
that  he  was  the  expert  from  Boston. 

"Let's  see,"  said  Hardy  finally.  "The  superintendent 
is  away  to-day,  isn't  he?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.     That's  not  my  business." 

Hardy's  expression  hardened,  but  he  went  on  slowly. 

"Then  Gilbert  is  acting  superintendent,  isn't  he?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"How  much  time  did  he  give  you,  did  you  say?" 

"Half  an  hour,"  choked  the  expert. 

"And  you've  already  lost  half  of  it,"  said  Hardy. 

"Yes,  sir,  but " 


72  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"I  should  say,  my  friend,  that  you  have  a  good-sized 
job  to  do  in  the  next  fifteen  minutes." 

"But  the  threat,  sir,  the  threat  this  man  Gilbert  made: 
what  have  you  to  say  to  that?" 

"  I've  only  got  to  say  that  from  what  I  know  of  Gilbert, 
he's  likely  to  do  what  he  says  he'll  do." 

The  expert  stared  at  Mr.  Hardy  unbelievingly  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  crestfallen,  he  retired,  muttering  to 
himself. 

There  was  a  grim  smile  on  "the  old  man's"  face  as  he 
swung  back  to  his  desk.  He  remembered  many  incidents 
in  which  John  Gilbert  had  figured,  and  he  liked  them  all; 
but  perhaps  none  of  them  had  appealed  to  his  martial 
business  heart  as  strongly  as  this  humiliation  of  the  pom- 
pous "know-it-all"  expert,  whose  type  had  always  been 
one  of  Mr.  Hardy's  pet  aversions.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  doing  things  on  impulse,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  him 
that,  long  before  the  expert's  fifteen  minutes  had  passed, 
Mr.  Hardy  had  pressed  one  of  the  buttons  that  studded 
his  desk,  and  tilted  back,  smoking,  waiting  for  Gilbert. 
Soon  there  was  a  decisive  banging  at  the  door,  and  the 
big,  loosely  hung  figure,  which  looked  bigger  and  more 
loosely  hung  in  the  torn  and  patched  and  grease-spotted 
overalls,  entered.  His  solemn  face  was  decorated  with 
grime,  and  his  hands  were  black  and  rough.  The  theo- 
retical expert,  with  his  comparatively  small  knowledge  of 
practical  factory  affairs,  was  scarcely  to  be  blamed  for 
looking  upon  Gilbert  as  a  common  workman.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  two  men  struck  Hardy  forcibly  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  assistant  superintendent. 

"Busy,  Jack?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  73 

The  big  fellow  nodded  and  took  a  deep  breath  at  the 
open  window  by  which  he  stood. 

''First  breath  I've  had  to-day,  Mr.  Hardy,"  he  said, 
and  a  genial  smile  lit  up  the  roughly  cut,  blackened  fea- 
tures with  a  startling  contrast  that  reminded  Hardy  sud- 
denly of  the  early  morning  sun  slanting  across  the  uneven 
surface  of  a  stern,  rocky  western  land  he  had  seen  years 
before.  ''If  this  pace  keeps  up  the  machines  '11  all  have 
nervous  prostration  in  a  week." 

Mr.  Hardy  came  immediately  to  the  point.  It  was  one 
of  the  qualities  Gilbert  had  always  admired  in  "the  old 
man,"  this  blunt,  straight-from-the-shoulder  directness. 

"Simpson's  left,"  he  said  with  jerky  abruptness.  He 
was  watching  Gilbert  closely,  and  he  saw  the  young  man's 
start  of  surprise.  "Told  him  not  to  say  anything  about 
it.  I've  known  about  it  a  month.  He's  gone  to  Hub- 
bard's." Mr.  Hardy  frowned  over  the  name.  "They're 
welcome  to  him.  Too  much  of  the  *I  think  so,  maybe,' 
and  the  '  I  hope  you'll  approve,  Mr.  Hardy,'  about  Simp- 
son to  suit  me." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Sam  Hardy  had  thought  well  of 
Simpson  until  the  superintendent  had  announced  his  deci- 
sion to  leave,  but  now,  of  course,  he  had  changed  his  mind 
completely. 

"I've  thought  about  a  man  from  outside,"  he  went  on, 
"some  fellow  with  new  ideas,  some  fellow  who'd  made  a 
study  of  factories.  Thought  perhaps  you  was  too  young. 
Guess  I  was  wrong.     How'd  you  like  to  tackle  it?" 

"I'd  like  it,  Mr.  Hardy."  Gilbert's  eyes  were  bright 
and  his  jaw  was  set  decisively.  "And  I  think  I  can  do 
it." 


74  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Mr.  Hardy  swung  back  to  his  desk  with  business-like 
energy. 

"That's  settled/'  he  said  gruffly.  "You're  boss.  No- 
body's to  interfere  with  you.  We'll  talk  about  salary  in 
a  month  or  two.     That's  all,  Jack." 

But  Gilbert  was  not  ready  to  go.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  opportunity  he  had  been  waiting  for,  the  oppor- 
tunity he  had  been  trying  to  make  for  himself,  to  lay 
before  Mr.  Hardy  all  the  plans  he  had  formulated  for  the 
shops,  had  come,  and  he  seized  it.  A  few  moments  later, 
at  Mr.  Hardy's  own  suggestion — Hardy  had  been  unwill- 
ingly overborne  by  the  young  man's  enthusiasm — he  re- 
appeared before  the  astonished  president  with  a  bundle 
of  papers,  containing  the  drawings  and  estimates  he  had 
been  working  over  quietly  for  more  than  a  year.  He 
unrolled  the  precious  sheets  almost  tenderly,  and  for  a 
half  hour  Mr.  Hardy  listened  to  his  rapid  explanations. 
And  the  president,  in  spite  of  his  immediate  inward  deci- 
sion, did  not  stop  him.  He  realized  dimly  that  what 
Gilbert  said  was  true,  and  that  it  was  not  the  talk  of  a 
theorist  but  the  concentrated  experience  of  a  practical 
man  of  the  mills. 

"Cost  too  much  money,"  was  his  laconic  conclusion 
when  Gilbert  had  finished.  "  Impossible."  And  this  was 
the  answer  with  which  he  met  each  succeeding  argument. 
"Can't  spend  a  cent  except  on  repairs  for  a  year  or  two. 
Save  it  till  then." 

A  year  or  two.  By  that  time,  as  things  were  going  now, 
Gilbert  groaned  to  himself,  the  shops  would  be  in  infinitely 
worse  condition  than  at  present.  By  that  time,  if  his 
intuition  was  correct,  they  might  be  in  Hubbard's  hands. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  75 

But  Mr.  Hardy  had  already  dismissed  him  and  his  plans, 
and  was  again  turning  to  the  desk.  Again  Gilbert  was 
not  ready  to  go.  He  had  carried  out  only  part  of  his 
decision  made  weeks  before.  He  had  yet  to  tell  Mr. 
Hardy  his  feeling  about  Hubbard — the  feeling  which, 
although  it  was  based  on  conjecture,  had  been  growing 
into  a  definite  conviction.  He  had  realized,  when  he 
decided  to  warn  'Hhe  old  man,"  that  Hardy  might  not 
take  his  interference  kindly,  and  he  realized  it  more 
clearly  as,  leaning  on  the  desk  top  and  looking  down  at 
the  president,  he  saw  the  flabby  face  turn  from  red  to 
purple  as  he  talked,  and  a  big  hand  doubled  up  until  it 
lay  like  a  mallet  on  the  blotter.  But  this  did  not  matter 
to  Gilbert.  It  was  the  thing  which,  right  or  wrong,— and 
he  believed  it  to  be  right — he  had  decided  to  do.  There- 
fore he  did  it  without  a  thought  of  flinching.  Mr.  Hardy 
interrupted  him  before  he  had  spoken  many  sentences. 

"  That's  enough.  I  didn't  hire  you  to  advise  me  about 
running  this  shop.  I  hire  you  to  be  superintendent,  and 
I  can  fire  you  just  as  quickly  as  I  hire  you,  and  don't  you 
forget  it."  Hardy's  eyes  met  Gilbert's  and  he  hesitated. 
When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  had  lost  its  angry  growl 
and  was  almost  apologetic.  "  Run  along  now.  Jack,  and 
boss  your  machines,  but  don't  try  to  boss  me.  And, 
look  here,  don't  ever  talk  to  me  again  about  something 
that  isn't  any  of  your  business." 

Gilbert  walked  out  without  a  word.  The  first  rush  of 
anger  at  the  domineering  words  vanished  before  a  hu- 
morous admiration  for  "the  old  man"  himself  and  his 
unconquerable  pride  and  spirit.  In  spite  of  his  disap- 
pointment he  smiled  as  he  thought  of  Hardy  as  a  kmd 


76  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

of  industrial  Canute,  ordering  back  alone  a  tide  almost  as 
resistless  as  that  of  the  ocean.  It  would  be  mightily 
hard  on  "the  old  man/*  he  thought  more  soberly,  when 
the  inevitable  happened;  mightily  hard  on  "the  old 
man  "  and  on  everyone  connected  with  him.     He  caught 

himself  thinking  of  a  tall,  slender  girl  looking  down 

No,  he'd  better  go  back  to  work  and  boss  the  machines, 
as  Hardy  had  said.  It  was  positively  sentimental  for 
him  to  have  that  girl's  face  following  him  about  as  it  had 
followed  him  ever  since  Sunday.  It  bothered  him,  too, 
that  the  quaint  little  girl  seemed  to  have  almost  disap- 
peared from  his  memories.  He  spent  half  an  hour  in  the 
finishing  room  over  the  machines  the  expert  had  replaced 
bunglingly,  and,  when  they  were  working  properly,  he 
moved  his  belongings  into  Simpson's  old  office.  He 
bundled  his  precious  papers  roughly  into  the  desk.  Then 
he  took  them  out  with  greater  care  and  locked  them  away 
in  one  of  the  drawers. 

"I'll  use  them  yet,  you  pig-headed  old  simpleton,"  he 
whispered  to  himself,  with  a  good-natured  grin  toward  the 
president's  office.  But  at  that  moment  he  could  not  have 
told  even  himself  how. 

When,  an  hour  or  more  later,  the  whistle  blew  he 
"washed  up"  with  the  men,  as  usual.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  at  first  to  go  to  his  new  office  with  its  compara- 
tively clean  little  wash  bowl,  and  when  he  did  think  of  it, 
after  two  or  three  who  had  heard  the  rapidly  traveling 
rumor  of  his  advancement  shook  his  hand,  he  decided  im- 
pulsively that  he  preferred  the  sociability  of  the  black 
old  sink  where  the  fellows  he  worked  with  jostled  and 
laughed  and  pounded  each  other  on  the  back  in  the  joy 


\^* 


I  A' 


{:"    I«L\ 


'Run   along   now.   Jack,   and   boss  your   machines,   but 
dont    try    to    boss    m^.''\    ,  , ,     , 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  77 

of  another  day's  work  done.  When  he  left  the  shop  he 
turned  down  Main  Street  toward  the  Methodist  church. 

The  Methodist  church  of  Hampstead  was  a  forbidding 
brick  structure  on  Main  Street,  not  far  from  the  beginning 
of  West  Hill.  Its  high,  tapering  steeple  stood  out  over 
the  town  like  a  menacing  index  finger  of  correction.  Be- 
yond the  swinging  green  doors  of  the  inner  vestibule  with 
their  tiny  glass  windows,  through  which  many  young 
knights  of  the  town  caught  glimpses  of  their  fair  ladies 
and  waited  with  palpitating  hearts  for  the  last  hymn 
and  the  benediction,  the  somberness  of  the  rigid  pew 
backs  and  the  dark  stained-glass  windows  was  relieved 
only  by  a  garish  piece  of  red  carpeting  on  the  pulpit  and 
the  glint  of  the  gilded  organ  pipes.  On  one  evening  in 
each  month,  however,  the  Thursday  of  the  last  week,  a 
sacrilegious  odor  of  steaming  coffee  stole  up  into  the 
musty  vestibule  from  below,  and  lured  belated  brethren 
and  their  families  to  the  big  room  in  the  basement,  where 
a  picnic  repast,  prepared  by  the  ladies  who  "furnished" 
for  the  church  supper,  awaited  them.  There,  when  the 
preacher  finished  his  blessing,  there  broke  forth  such  a 
noisy  clatter  of  plates  and  silver,  such  a  hum  of  good- 
fellowship  over  discussions  of  unimportant  and  inter- 
esting things,  such  shrieks  of  delight  from  the  children  at 
the  mere  suggestions  of  ice-cream  and  chocolate  cake 
to  come,  that  even  sour  old  Mr.  Butterson  was  forced  to 
grit  his  teeth  to  keep  from  smiling. 

Across  at  a  short  table  by  the  white- washed  wall,  on  the 
night  of  this  June  supper,  the  solemn  young  preacher  was 
seen  to  slap  Gilbert  on  the  shoulder  with  something  that 
approached  heartiness,  and  Mrs.  Brice,  his  more  genial 


78  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

if  not  his  better  half,  twitted  the  big  fellow  about  "some- 
thing that  happened  at  Clear  Lake/'  until  Gilbert,  flush- 
ing fiercely,  changed  the  subject.  Mrs.  Brice,  he  knew, 
had  been  a  classmate  of  Clare  Hardy's  at  college,  and 
their  former  friendship  had  been  renewed  since  the 
Brices  had  come  to  Hampstead.  Next  to  Mrs.  Gilbert 
at  the  table  sat  Mr.  McNish  and  Billy — the  elder  McNish, 
whose  kindly  soul  rejoiced  in  church  suppers,  and  Billy, 
who  had  told  Gilbert  once  with  characteristic  frankness 
that  ''church  suppers  were  a  dead  easy  way  to  get  next 
to  the  people  and  to  make  a  bluff  at  respectability." 
Then  there  was  Colonel  Mead,  who  looked  across  at  Gil- 
bert with  pathetic  resignation  from  his  unsought  location 
between  little  Molly  Jethro,  who  spoke  in  monosyllables, 
and  Mrs.  Neely,  whom  Billy  called  "a  rapid  fire  gun  of 
talk  loaded  with  blanks."  The  Colonel  seldom  appeared 
in  the  solemn  auditorium  upstairs.  He  had  sworn  off 
sermons  when  he  swore  off  whiskey  thirty  years  before, 
he  declared.  During  occasional  dyspeptic  periods  he 
railed  alternately  at  the  hypocrisy  of  church  people  and 
at  the  dishonesty  of  secret  societies,  but  he  belonged  to 
four  of  the  one  hundred  and  one  orders  with  which  Hamp- 
stead men  decorate  themselves,  and  he  always  sat  at  this 
same  table  in  the  Methodist  church  basement  on  the  last 
Thursday  evening  of  the  month.  And  last  but  never 
least,  there  was  watery-eyed  little  Neely;  local  preacher, 
prayer-meeting  exhorter,  councilman  and  critic  of  life. 
The  poor  fund  knew  him  only  too  well,  for  Neely  had 
never  been  able  to  find  steady  work,  but  his  fiery  phrases 
never  faltered,  and  his  ability  to  find  scandal  anywhere 
and  everywhere  made  him  the  friend  of  all  who  loved 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  79 

gossip.  When  Neely  was  seen  buttonholing  the  preacher 
or  Mr.  McNish  there  were  immediately  many  good  women 
who  wished  to  talk  with  him  confidentially. 

At  the  moment  Neely  was  discussing  the  theater. 
That  was  the  primal  sink  of  iniquity.  It  lured  "our 
young  men  "  to  sin  and  to  crime.  It  taught  "  our  young 
women''  the  ways  of  wickedness.  And  yet  "some  of  our 
own  people'*  were  attracted  by  this  ''superfluity  of  naugh- 
tiness."   Neely  did  not  like  to  mention  names,  but 

Gilbert  smiled  grimly.  He  remembered  seeing  Neely 
convulsed  with  laughter  over  a  cheap  negro  comedian  in 
the  five-cent  vaudeville  show  at  Clear  Lake. 

The  embarrassed  Colonel  created  a  diversion  by  put- 
ting salt  in  his  coffee  and  milk  on  his  cold  meat. 

"We  had  a  fine  old  general,"  put  in  Mr.  McNish,  to 
cover  the  Colonel's  confusion,  "  who  was  always  the  pride 
of  the  boys  because  he  was  as  calm  as  a  church  in  the  face 
of  fire.  At  Second  Bull  Run  he  sat  on  his  horse  at  the 
most  exposed  place  in  the  line  and  calmly  read  a  book. 
Whenever  a  particularly  loud  shell  'Id  scream  over  his 
head,  he'd  turn  a  page  and  yawn.  Pretty  soon  one 
took  his  horse,  and  when  two  of  the  men  picked  him  up 
the  book  was  still  in  his  hand.  But  we  reckoned  he 
must  've  been  absent-minded,  too,  for  the  book  was 
upside  down." 

As  Mr.  McNish  finished  his  reminiscence  the  room  be- 
came suddenly  quiet.  Then  whispers,  more  startling  yet 
in  the  stillness,  came  from  the  next  table.  It  is  remarkable 
how  few  people  have  the  courage  to  hear  their  own  voices 
in  a  silence.  Gilbert  turned  with  the  rest  to  see  that 
nearly  every  woman  in  the  place  was  staring  fascinated 


80  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

at  the  doorway,  and  that  men  were  moving  uneasily  in 
their  chairs  and  trying  lamely  to  draw  the  attention  of 
the  others  away  from  the  same  spot.  Then  a  voice,  thick 
and  maudlin,  remarked  in  tones  that  carried  to  the  farthest 
ends  of  the  room: 

"Want  t^  see  Molly,  tha^s  all/' 

Gilbert  knew  the  voice  even  before  he  saw  the  red, 
blotched  face,  and  the  lurching  figure  that  hung  to  the 
post  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  he  turned  apprehen- 
sively to  Molly  Jethro,  who,  with  drawn  face,  had  started 
to  rise  and  then  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  in  sudden 
shame.  Gilbert  had  given  Jethro  the  afternoon  off  that 
day,  and  he  understood  now  the  use  to  which  the  council- 
man, who  represented  labor  among  "the  city  fathers," 
had  put  his  leisure.  He  was  on  his  feet  quickly,  but 
Neely  was  ahead  of  him. 

"  Mrs.  Jethro  isn't  here,"  he  heard  Neely  say  in  his  oily 
voice.  "She's  probably  home.  You  go  along  and  find 
her,  Martin,  that's  a  good  man." 

"  Good  man,"  muttered  Jethro,  "  good  man.  No,  you're 
the  good  man,  always  talkin'  about  sin  an'  devils  an'  that 
muck.  Molly  says  you're  so  good  you  ought  to  be  a  lesson 
to  me.  Think  o'  that,  a  lesson  to  me.  An'  all  the  time  I 
know  better.  I  know  better.  Old  Hubbard's  money's 
just  as  good  to  you  as  'tis  to  me,  eh,  Mr.  Neely?" 

The  last  sentence  was  said  in  a  whisper,  but  Neely 
started  back  against  Gilbert  with  a  panic  of  fear  on  his  face. 

"Stop  him,"  he  panted,  "stop  him." 

"Come  on  out  of  this,  Jethro."  Gilbert  linked  his  arm 
in  that  of  the  representative  of  labor  and  turned  him 
toward  the  stairs. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  81 

'*0h,  it's  the  new  superintendent,"  sneered  Jethro. 
"Think  you're  better'n  we  are — but  ye  ain't.  Runnin' 
a  shop  now,  aren't  ye?  Goin'  to  be  a  capitalist,  soon; 
eh,  me  son?  All  right.  All  right.  We've  got  'em  on 
the  run.  First  'twas  ten  hours  a  day;  then  'twas  nine; 
now  it's  eight  with  a  good  many;  then  fill  be  seven,  an' 
by  an'  by  we  won't  work  at  all,  an'  we'll  have  old  Hub- 
bard an'  Hardy  a-blackin'  our " 

Gilbert  had  not  wished  to  use  force,  but  Jethro  hung 
back,  determinedly,  talking  at  full  voice. 

"Come  on,  Jethro.  You're  making  a  holy  show  of 
yourself."  And  Jethro  felt  a  pull  that  made  the  muscles 
of  his  arm  strain  and  ache.  The  preacher  came  hurrying 
up. 

"I've  telephoned  for  the  police.  They  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes,"  he  said  excitedly. 

Whether  it  was  the  yanking  pull  or  the  police  that 
changed  Jethro's  mind,  his  hand  dropped  from  the  post 
and  they  started  up  the  stairs. 

"Telephone  to  the  police — nothing  doing,"  Gilbert 
remarked  over  his  shoulder  to  the  preacher  with  a  wink 
that  even  Mr.  Brice  understood,  and  the  strangely  as- 
sorted pair  stumbled  up  and  out  into  the  street. 

It  was  astonishing  how  interested  those  pleasant-faced, 
gentle-voiced  church  women  were  in  Jethro,  the  moment 
his  back  was  turned.  They  left  their  seats  and  gathered 
at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  to  watch  his  exit,  and  a  few 
followed  his  lurching  form  up  into  the  vestibule,  and  stood 
in  the  door  until  they  saw  Gilbert  help  him  into  a  hack 
under  the  electric  light  at  the  corner.  Then  they  went 
back  with  awed  whispers  and  told  each  other  what  they 


82  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

had  seen,  and  stared  sympathetically  at  poor  Molly 
Jethro  until  that  sensitive  little  creature  shrunk  away 
against  the  wall.  At  last  Billy  McNish,  at  the  risk  of  his 
popularity,  took  her  away,  in  the  midst  of  a  pitiless  silence, 
to  the  preacher's  study  and  left  her  there  with  Mrs.  Brice, 
who  had  followed  Billy's  beckoning  nod  and  her  own 
better  instincts. 

After  that,  the  gossip  became  mixed  and  gradually 
sweetened  with  chocolate  cake,  and  the  children,  who  had 
been  silently  listening  to  the  helpful  discourses  of  their 
elders,  turned  their  attention  to  the  ice  cream,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  room  returned  to  the  normal  and 
humdrum.  Mr.  Neely,  however,  was  still  making  spiteful 
remarks  about  Mr.  Jethro's  incapacity  for  telling  the 
truth,  punctuating  them  here  and  there  with  scriptural 
texts,  and  watching  suspiciously  with  his  watery  eyes  for 
a  sign  that  anyone  had  heard  the  labor  councilman's 
whispered  remark.  Finally  he  called  Mr.  McNish  aside, 
and  left  the  Colonel  to  the  mercies  of  Mrs.  Neely  and  a 
few  other  ladies,  who  wanted  to  know  what  that  voluble 
person  thought  about  how  Mrs.  Jethro  must  have  felt 
when — and  so  forth.  The  poor  Colonel  pulled  at  his  iron- 
gray  mustaches  that  drooped  in  a  curve  like  steers'  horns, 
and  thought  words  that  are  seldom  used  in  churches. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  had  long  since  left  the  table  for  the  busier 
kitchen. 

Sometime  later,  when  Gilbert  walked  into  the  dimly 
lighted  vestibule,  he  found  the  Colonel  pacing  up  and 
down  in  contented  solitude. 

"  S'pose  I  ought  to  hev  stayed  down  there."  There  was 
a  gleam  in  the  veteran's  eye  as  he  pointed  soberly  at  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  83 

floor.  ^'  They  jest  nachurally  can't  tear  ye  to  pieces  when 
ye're  with  'em.     But  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer." 

''Stand  what?"  Gilbert  looked  at  the  Colonel  absent- 
mindedly. 

"The  women  folks.  Do  ye  know,  boy,  I  never  feel  so 
lonesome  ez  I  do  when  I  get  left  alone  with  a  pack  of 
women,  'specially  good  women.  I  dassen't  talk  fer  fear 
I'll  swear  er  say  somethin'  thet  ain't  right  an'  proper,  an' 
it  sure  makes  me  nervous  to  watch  their  mouths  go,  jest 
sayin'  nothin'  at  all.  Women  talk  jest  like  most  Injuns 
fight.  When  they  find  a  point  they  want  to  attack  they 
creep  up  to  within  one  hundred  yards  of  it  on  one  side; 
then  they  do  the  same  on  th'  other  side;  then  they  try  the 
left  an'  the  right;  and  then  most  likely  they  give  a  war- 
whoop  an'  go  runnin'  off  without  ever  attackin'  the  point 
they  was  aimin'  at  at  all.  But  say  what'd  ye  do  with 
Jethro?" 

"I  took  him  home  in  a  hack." 

"Ye  took  him  home  in  a  hack!"  echoed  the  Colonel. 
"Ye  don't  mean  to  say  ye  took  that  blaguard  thet  'Id  a 
soiled  the  dirtiest  guardhouse  in  Fort  Benton,  that  greaser 
thet  a  decent  rope  'Id  be  ashamed  to  hev  hangin'  to  it, 
thet  mis'able,  no-account  pup  thet  a  haff-breed  cayuse 
wouldn't  associate  with — home  in  a  hack!     Home  in  a 

hack!     Well,  I'll  be "     The  Colonel  stopped  suddenly 

and  looked  cautiously  about  the  vestibule.  Then  he  came 
close  to  Gilbert  and  shook  the  whispered  word  mto  the 
big  fellow's  face,  "damned." 

There  was  something  in  Gilbert's  eyes,  as  he  saw  them 
now  at  close  range,  that  made  the  Colonel  finish  the  word 
quickly. 


84  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  I  had  it  all  decided  when  I  took  hold  of  him."  Gilbert 
spoke  as  if  with  restraint.  **  I  put  him  in  a  hack  and  took 
him  home.  He  cursed  me  all  the  way.  I  took  him  inside 
and  undressed  him,  and  he  went  on  cursing.  Then  I  tele- 
phoned Gilshannon  and  the  Register  to  keep  it  out  of  the 
papers.  I'd  decided  to  do  all  that,  but  I  came  pretty 
near  not  doing  it  or  doing  something  else.  I  didn't  mind 
his  cursing.  That  was  amusing.  But  he  said  things 
that — well,  I  never  came  so  near  to  smashing  a  man's 
head  in  before.  I've  walked  off  some  of  it,  but  I've  got  a 
good  deal  left.     Oh,  I'm  a  fool,  I  guess.  Colonel." 

And  Gilbert  left  the  surprised  veteran  abruptly  and 
went  downstairs.  The  ladies  were  disappointed  in  Mr. 
Gilbert  that  night.  He  was  extraordinarily  uncommu- 
nicative. They  said  to  each  other  that  it  seemed  a  great 
pity  that  someone  else  had  not  gone  with  Mr.  Jethro,  in 
whom  they  were  all  so  interested,  someone  who  would 
tell  them  the  rest  of  the  story.  But  they  hovered  about 
him  until  Mrs.  Gilbert  came  to  his  rescue.  As  the  two 
started  out,  the  elder  McNish  joined  them,  but  at  the 
street  door  he  stopped  suddenly. 

"Forgotten  something?"  suggested  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"The  Colonel  and  Billy,"  grimaced  Mr.  McNish.  "I'm 
like  Cap'n  Sanford  of  the  Seventh  Massachusetts — I  think 
it  was  the  Seventh.  Marched  into  camp  at  Kettle  Run 
alone.  When  they  asked  him  where  his  company  was, 
Sanford  scratched  his  head.  'Lordy,'  he  said,  'I  knew 
I'd  forgotten  something.'" 

Colonel  Mead  was  sitting  moodily  in  a  corner  down- 
stairs, absorbed  in  an  increasing  ill-will  against  the  world 
in  general;  but  Billy  had  disappeared. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  85 

"Some  girl,  probably."  Mr.  McNish  chuckled  as  he 
rejoined  the  others  after  a  hasty  search.  ''Billy's  like 
Bill  Jennings  of  the  Fourth.  When  we  were  in  camp 
down  at  Kettle  Run,  Bill'd  come  out  of  his  tent  at  night 
and  look  around.  Then  he'd  call  two  or  three  of  the  men. 
*  Mates,'  he'd  say — you  see  he  was  before  the  mast  as  a 
boy — 'there's  a  girl  or  two  about  five  miles  and  a  half 
away  north  by  northwest.  Let's  go  and  make  a  call.' 
And  the  boys  said  he  never  failed  to  make  good." 

They  walked  home  slowly  under  the  stars,  Gilbert  car- 
rying his  mother  along  on  his  arm  after  their  usual 
custom,  and  the  stout  little  Mr.  McNish  taking  two  steps 
to  one  of  the  gaunt  Colonel's  long  strides.  And  for  a  time 
the  pulsing  stillness  of  the  night  put  its  seal  upon  their 
lips. 

"  Jack's  all  wrong."  The  Colonel  was  thinking  aloud  at 
last.  "  He  can't  run  men  by  bein'  good  to  'em.  He's  got 
to  fight.  This  world  ain't  a  nursery  er  a  Sundy  School,  an', 
I  tell  ye,  the  most  low-down  haff-breed  on  the  Mexican 
border  ain't  half  as  wicked  as  some  o'  these  Dagoes 
that  're  workin'  here  in  the  shops.  He's  got  to  fight  an' 
he  don't  know  it." 

Mr.  McNish  hummed  a  scrap  of  melody  in  his  cracked 
tenor,  as  he  watched  the  big  figure  that  loomed  ahead  of 
them. 

"  I  think  I'll  be  sorry  for  them  when  he  finds  it  out,"  he 
said. 

"  I  caught  a  gang  of  'em  yesterday,  stealin'  apples  in  my 
back  yard.  An'  when  I  told  'em  to  go  they  jest  stared  at 
me.  They  couldn't  've  understood  my  remarks.  If  they 
had,  an'  wuz  good  Catholics,  they'd  've  vamoosed  instanter. 


86  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

He'd  likely  Ve  given  'em  all  the  apples  an'  sent  'em  home 
in  a  hack." 

There  was  at  least  one  person,  however,  who  wholly 
approved  of  Gilbert's  way  of  dealing  with  Jethro,  and  that 
was  his  mother.  In  some  unaccountable  way,  also,  her 
approval  always  satisfied  him  in  the  face  of  his  inward 
doubts.  In  characteristic  man  fashion  he  told  her  little, 
and  then  depended  much  upon  her  woman's  judgment, 
for,  like  most  men,  he  intuitively  had  more  faith  in  a  wom- 
an's instincts  than  in  his  own  reason. 

When  he  left  her  that  night,  therefore,  he  put  out  of  his 
mind,  as  unworthy  of  further  thought,  the  fact  that  Jethro 
had  called  him  a  "scab"  and  a  "leg-puller"  and  two  or 
three  unmentionable  terms.  Of  course,  he  remembered 
that  dictum  from  the  Colonel's  long  experience  with  men. 
"  Most  any  man  can  fool  ye  when  he's  sober,"  the  Colonel 
had  once  said,  "but  git  him  drunk  an'  ye've  got  him  with 
the  cover  off  his  heart."  But,  after  all,  what  did  it 
matter  ? 

One  thing  alone  remained  to  bother  him.  Jethro  evi- 
dently knew  something  derogatory  to  Neely.  There  was 
no  other  explanation  for  Neely's  amusing  and  childlike 
panic.  There  was  nothing  very  extraordinary  about  that, 
in  itself.  Neely  was  far  too  much  of  a  well-meaning  but 
pointless  joke,  to  be  taken  seriously.  It  was  only  the 
introduction  of  Mr.  Hubbard's  name  that  caused  Gilbert 
to  remember  the  incident  at  all.  Gradually  this  wizened- 
up,  insignificant-looking,  gray-haired  man,  whom  he  knew 
merely  by  sight,  was  becoming  to  Gilbert's  imagination  a 
kind  of  threatening  creature  crouching  away  somewhere 
in  the  dark,  and  he  had  a  human  craving  to  turn  the  light 


THE    BALANCE    OF   POWER  87 

upon  it.  But  he  was  a  good  man,  this  Alonzo  Hubbard, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  community,  and,  what  was  more,  he 
was  a  successful  man,  which  was  much  more  important 
in  the  eyes  of  many — although,  of  course,  they  would  never 
have  admitted  it.  He  was  a  devout  churchman — hadn't 
he  paid  for  those  remarkable  red  plush  seats  in  St.  John's 
Church?  He  was  a  self-made  man,  and  that  was  the  only 
kind  of  a  man  that  Hampstead  had  any  respect  for. 
And,  although  he  was  rich,  he  had  not  made  enemies  along 
with  his  money,  as  most  rich  men  did.  Hampstead  moth- 
ers pointed  him  out  to  their  sons  as  a  model  of  propriety 
— and  of  success;  and  daughters,  who  were  striving  for  a 
place  in  the  small  clique  of  people  who  styled  themselves 
"  society,"  lost  much  of  their  respect  for  their  fathers  be- 
cause those  hard-working  men  were  not  as  successful  as 
the  rich  Mr.  Hubbard.  And  there  were  few  men  in  this 
democratic  Connecticut  city  who  were  not  proud  when  Mr. 
Hubbard  bowed  to  them  in  his  icy  way. 

Gilbert  understood  Alonzo  Hubbard  little  better  than 
most  of  his  neighbors  did,  but  he  was  willing— and  he  was 
growing  eager — to  learn.     And  that  was  an  advantage. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT   MR.    hardy's 

IF  the  Hardy  house  on  West  Hill  had  grown  old  and 
familiar  for  twenty  years  to  Hampstead,  there  was, 
nevertheless,  a  glaring  newness  about  the  interior 
to  help  it  to  retain  its  earlier  reputation  for  novelty.  The 
''old  man"  liked  the  smell  of  paint  and  varnish,  and  had 
a  large  part  of  the  house  painted  and  repapered  every 
year.  It  changed  its  appearance  almost  as  often  as  Mrs. 
Hardy  changed  her  gowns,  and  Mrs.  Hardy's  gowns  were 
the  envy  of  Hampstead  women.  And  between  the  two 
Sam  Hardy  seldom  had  more  than  a  moderate-sized  ac- 
count at  any  of  the  banks.  He  never  begrudged  the  money 
spent  in  these  two  forms  of  decoration,  however.  They 
satisfied  his  whims.  He  walked  to  church  of  a  Sunday 
morning  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye,  acutely  conscious  of 
every  admiring  glance  at  Mrs.  Hardy's  costume — his  feet 
keeping  time  to  the  refrain  that  re-echoed  in  his  exalted 
mind,  "I  paid  for  it,  I  paid  for  it."  And  inside  the 
church,  the  gowns  always  furnished  him  more  consolation 
than  the  sermon. 

In  the  house,  the  parlors  at  present  were  modeled  after 
some  rooms  that  had  taken  Mr.  Hardy's  eye  at  the  Wal- 
dorf Astoria.  They  were  all  in  gilt  and  white.  The 
library,  next  door,  was  walled  with  green  burlap  and 
contained  many  costly  books  with  uncut  leaves,  a  newly 

88 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  89 

patented  chair  with  a  mechanical  book  holder,  and  a 
Turkish  cozy  corner.  The  big  dining-room  was  finished 
throughout  with  Flemish  Oak,  Rathskellar-like.  Mr. 
Hardy  received  his  ideas  in  New  York  and  adapted  them 
to  Hampstead,  even  to  hanging  his  pictures  in  such  a 
way  that  they  looked  as  if  they  had  been  hurled  at  the 
walls  and  had  been  allowed  to  remain  wherever  they 
struck.  And  of  course  there  were  hardwood  floors  cov- 
ered with  treacherous  rugs,  which  were  responsible  for 
Mr.  Hardy's  attaining  a  rather  incongruous,  mincing  gait, 
a  hesitating,  suspicious  step,  as  if  he  were  walking  on  ice. 

And  if  it  be  remarked  that  the  house  both  within  and 
without  was  characterized,  at  the  least,  by  an  infinite 
variety,  what  shall  be  said  of  those  who  lived  in  it?  Mrs. 
Hardy  had  objected  regularly  to  every  change  that  her 
husband  ordered,  and  she  had  then  gone  quietly  upstairs 
and  read  Marcus  Aurelius.  Her  indifferent  submission 
had  grown  to  be  as  chronic  as  her  objections.  She  was 
a  languid  woman  with  very  tense  ideas  about  the  pro- 
prieties of  life,  ideas  nearly  all  of  which  Mr.  Hardy  vio- 
lated, purposely  violated  it  seemed  to  her.  She,  therefore, 
lived,  after  her  own  fashion,  an  existence  bounded  by  tea- 
cups and  gossip,  an  occasional  bit  of  fine  sewing,  and  Mar- 
cus Aurelius.  And  the  girl,  who  was  like  them  both  and  to- 
tally different  from  either  one,  had  missed  most  of  the  things 
that  make  a  home  better  than  a  boarding-house,  and  was 
vaguely  disappointed.  Meanwhile  the  servants  controlled 
the  house,  and  Mr.  Hardy  paid  the  bills,  and  the  neighbors 
spoke  of  the  Hardys  as  ''such  a  happy  family." 

Clare  Hardy  was  lounging  luxuriously  on  the  broad 
window  seat  of  her  room  in  the  tower,  late  that  Friday 


90  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

afternoon.  The  window  was  open  and  the  fresh  June  air 
blew  the  heavy  curtains  about  her.  Although  a  book 
lay  in  her  lap,  she  was  looking  down  at  the  busy  city  below 
her,  with  its  ragged  line  of  brick  blocks  showing  above  the 
green  of  the  trees.  Long  streaks  of  smoke  twisted  like 
ribbons  from  a  hundred  chimney  mouths  and  marred  the 
beyond  of  blue  mystery  about  the  hills.  Far  in  the  dis- 
tance a  long  freight  train  was  creeping  along,  a  winding 
tendril  of  black  against  the  hillside.  She  had  often  won- 
dered as  she  looked  from  this  same  window  what  Ruskin 
would  have  said  to  the  blur  of  dirty  smoke  and  the  sooty 
chimneys.  And  yet,  down  at  the  mills  the  noise  and  the 
quiet  discipline,  and  the  sense  of  an  army  of  men  doing 
things  appealed  to  her  imagination.  And  in  either  of 
these  conflicting  points  of  view  she  was  different  from  her 
girl  friends  in  Hampstead,  to  nearly  all  of  whom  Ruskin 
was  merely  a  name  that  suggested  a  duty  unperformed, 
and  the  shops  a  noisy,  mussy  place  where  the  men  made 
money.  Yes,  Clare  Hardy  was  distinctly  different,  and 
she  had  sense  enough  to  know  it  and  to  be  glad  of  it. 
Not  that  there  was  any  suggestion  of  snobbery  about  her. 
The  girls  all  declared  that  she  was  *'  charming,  lots  of  fun, 
and  so  refined,''  and  the  boys  liked  her,  although,  of  course, 
they  did  not  understand  her.  They  were  not  to  be  blamed 
for  that.  She  was  never  certain  that  she  understood  her- 
self. If  people  now  and  then  caught  a  stray  end  of  a  line 
of  her  character,  they  always  found  it  tangled  with  half-a- 
dozen  others  before  they  really  had  a  firm  hold  of  it.  And 
yet  there  was  a  fine  frankness  about  her,  a  way  of  going 
straight  to  a  point  like  a  man.  Nothing  in  other  women 
amused  and  irritated  her  so  much  as  their  roundabout, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  91 

underneath,  overhead,  criss-cross  methods  of  doing  things. 
In  short,  she  was  as  incomprehensible  as  her  smile,  which 
was  alternately  tantalizing  and  tender  and  malicious  and 
mocking,  and  which  was  never  quite  the  same  for  a  con- 
secutive half-minute. 

It  seemed  to  her  this  afternoon  that  nature,  conven- 
tions and  parents  had  combined  to  make  girls  useless  and 
unhappy.  She  was  desperately  weary  of  her  leisurely 
round  of  Women's  Club  meetings  and  eternal  piano  prac- 
tice and  insignificant  church  duties  and  occasional  dances. 
She  was  sure  there  was  no  place  in  the  world  with  so  small 
a  supply  of  originality  as  this  town  of  Hampstead  which 
she  felt  she  hated  and  which  she  knew  she  loved.  And 
perhaps  this  mood  explains  why  the  book  in  her  lap  hap- 
pened to  be  her  old  character-study  book.  She  had 
started  this  book  in  college  instead  of  keeping  a  diary. 
Every  girl  she  knew  had  a  diary.  Therefore  Miss  Hardy 
scorned  the  daily  entry  of  trivial  incidents  and,  instead, 
analyzed  on  paper  the  people  she  met  who  interested  her. 
For  a  year  or  two  the  book  had  gathered  dust  upon  her 
lowest  book-shelf,  but  during  the  present  week  volumi- 
nous notes  had  been  entered  in  it  daily.  Perhaps  this 
same  mood  explained  that  John  Gilbert  was  the  character 
she  was  studying,  and  perhaps  John  Gilbert  explained  the 
mood.  This  is  a  problem  that  no  mere  man  would  at- 
tempt to  solve. 

At  any  rate,  three  pages  of  the  book  were  already  de- 
voted to  him.  She  remembered  him  as  the  strong,  un- 
wieldy boy.  With  that  strange  feminine  memory  for 
little,  far-off  things,  she  recalled  his  struggle  with  Billy 
McNish  on  that  first  day  in  the  old  garden,  and  still 


92  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

another  short  but  decisive  fight  with  Billy,  the  cause  of 
which  had  been  an  argument  as  to  whether  or  not  her 
voice  "had  a  fuzz  on  it."  Billy  had  admitted  in  the  end 
that  it  had.  She  remembered,  with  a  combination  of 
inward  embarrassment  and  inward  pleasure,  how  angry 
he  had  once  become  with  a  gypsy  fortune  teller  who  had 
said  he  would  some  day  marry  a  blonde  woman — and  her 
eyes  and  hair  were  black.  She  remembered  how  the  old 
house  had  been  sold,  how  all  the  girls  in  her  set  had  had 
nothing  more  to  do  with  him  when  he  went  to  work  as  a 
mechanic,  and  how  he  had  suddenly  dropped  out  of  the 
circle  of  grown-up  children  and  had  become  Mr.  Gilbert. 
She  remembered  little  concerning  him  during  the  years 
she  had  been  away  at  college,  and  since  she  had  graduated 
she  had  scarcely  thought  of  him  until  that  Common 
Council  meeting  a  month  ago.  It  was  only  since  Sunday, 
however,  that  he  had  really  seemed  interesting  to  her. 

All  the  week  she  had  missed  only  one  or  two  noons  or 
evenings  when  the  men  came  tramping  home  from  the 
shops.  And  she  had  watched,  curious  to  know  what  he 
was  like  when  he  was  off  his  guard,  when  he  did  not  know 
that  she  was  looking  at  him.  Her  feminine  habit  of 
arguing  everything  to  herself  made  her  unconsciously 
consider  him  off  his  guard  whenever  she  was  out  of  sight. 
Every  detail  was  noted  in  the  book  with  mathematical 
accuracy.  Sometimes  he  strode  homeward  with  some  of 
the  men  who  had  washed  their  faces  just  enough  to  make 
the  workaday  dirt  a  smudge.  She  had  commented  on  his 
loud,  hearty  laugh  and  on  his  slapping  a  man  on  the  back 
on  one  occasion  with  vigorous  approbation.  And  yet 
there  was  always  a  sense  of  dignity  about  him;  the  men 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


did  the  talking  and  he  seemed  naturally  to  hold  court. 
One  noon  he  had  ridden  up  with  her  father,  and  again  it 
seemed  to  her  that  he  was  holding  covu-t  and  that  her 
father  took  the  place  of  the  workmen.  She  had  not 
watched  that  night  out  of  sheer  resentment.  And  then, 
one  day,  he  had  come  along  just  as  lame  old  Widow  Ash- 
ton  was  trying  to  catch  a  downtown  car.  He  was  talking 
with  a  number  of  the  men,  but  he  caught  sight  of  the 
panting  old  lady,  stopped  the  car,  and  then  carried  rather 
than  helped  her  to  the  platform.  The  rather  infrequent 
smile  that  was  tender  had  played  about  Clare  Hardy's 
mouth,  as  she  watched  him  catch  up  with  the  men  and 
tramp  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Sometimes  he  was 
alone,  loping  along  with  awkward  strides.  "He  drawls 
with  his  tongue  and  his  legs,''  was  the  entry  in  her  book. 
This  noon  he  had  passed  with  the  two  McNishes,  and  they 
were  such  a  jolly  trio  that  she  instinctively  thought  of  the 
immortal  Taffy  tramping  along  arm  in  arm  with  the  Laird 
and  little  Billee.  Twice  he  had  looked  up  at  her  window 
while  she  dodged  back  behind  the  curtains  and  held  her 
breath,  and  last  night  her  father  had  mentioned  his  pro- 
motion at  the  shops. 

She  was  wondering  vaguely  what  John  Gilbert  thought 
of  her  father  when  the  whistles  blew  down  by  the  river. 
A  car  went  clanging  by,  and  soon  the  first  groups  of  men 
came  hurrying  up  the  hill.  The  farther  side  of  West  Hill 
was  already  lined  with  new  streets  and  dotted  with  work- 
men's trim  houses.  Fifteen  minutes  passed  and  still  he 
did  not  come.  She  was  beginning  to  be  irritated  when, 
at  last,  she  saw  the  tall,  familiar  form  far  down  the  street. 
Beside  him  was  a  shorter,  broader  woman's  figure.     She 


94  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

strained  her  eyes  to  see  who  it  was.  She  had  never  seen 
him  come  by  before  with  a  woman.  Then  she  discovered 
that  it  was  his  mother.  Miss  Hardy  felt  suddenly  guilty. 
As  a  child  she  had  always  liked  Mrs.  Gilbert,  but  since  she 
had  grown  to  be  a  woman  she  had  not  thought  of  calling 
at  the  plain  little  cottage.  And  as  she  watched  them 
pass  she  had  another  and  a  different  feeling  of  guilt,  and 
she  turned  impulsively  away  from  the  window. 

He  was  very  aggravating,  she  decided  as  she  dressed  for 
dinner.  Why  was  he  such  a  paragon?  He  was  like  one 
of  those  god-like  heroes  of  popular  novels,  whom  she  liked 
to  read  about  but  whom  she  considered  too  impossibly 
perfect  for  words.  She  must  discover  something  bad 
about  him,  she  argued,  or  her  character  study  would  have 
no  character. 

To  add  to  her  irritation  Mr.  Hardy  insisted  on  telling  a 
story  about  this  man  Gilbert  at  the  dinner  table.  It 
seemed  that  there  was  a  certain  Irishman  at  the  shops, 
whose  steady  and  efficient  life  had  been  jarred  out  of  gear 
by  fragments  of  socialistic  doctrine.  He  had  come  to 
believe  that  all  men  who  have  money  ought  to  divide 
equally  with  those  who  have  not.  And  the  quality  of  his 
work  grew  poorer  as  the  quantity  of  his  talk  increased. 
Gilbert  had  called  the  man  into  his  office  that  day,  and 
their  conversation,  as  Mr.  Hardy  detailed  it,  was  somewhat 
as  follows: 

"Michael,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  half-holiday." 

"Thank  ye,  sorr.'^ 

"You  own  your  house,  don't  you,  Michael?" 

"I  do,  sorr,"  proudly. 

"And  you  have  six  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  95 

**I  have,  sorr,"  with  some  surprise. 

"You  know  Pat  Ryan  well?" 

"That  I  do.  He  lives  forninst  me  in  Mrs.  Flynn's 
boardin'  house.  He's  woruked  beside  me  fer  eight  years, 
sorr,  an'  he  owes  me  wan  hundred  dollars,  bad  cess  to 
him.  He  drinks  too  harud,  does  Pat.  His  two  byes 
woruk,  an'  it's  all  they  can  do  to  git  along,  the  free  av 
thim." 

"Your  daughter  Mary  is  graduating  from  the  High 
School  this  week?" 

"She  is,  sorr.  She's  at  the  head  av  the  class,  God 
spare  her." 

"And  your  two  sons  are  both  in  school?" 

"They  are,  sorr,  an'  doin'  foine." 

"All  right,  Michael.  You'd  like  to  deed  over  half  of 
your  property  to  Pat,  of  course.  Come  here  at  noon  with 
the  papers  and  I'll  be  witness  for  you.  That's  all, 
Michael,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

Michael,  his  eyes  blinkmg,  his  hands  nervously  twitch- 
ing at  his  cap,  goes  out.  Soon  there  is  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Michael's  head  is  pushed  through  the  narrow 
opening. 

"  I'm  dommed  if  I  do,  sorr,"  and  the  door  slams  behind 
him. 

In  this  way,  according  to  Mr.  Hardy,  his  new  superin- 
tendent cured  Michael  of  socialism.  He  was  quickly  dis- 
gruntled when  his  daughter  did  not  join  him  in  his  noisy 
laughter.  With  masculine  consistency,  therefore,  he 
turned  to  his  wife. 

"Women  're  never  interested  in  business,"  he  growled, 
spreading  his  bread  on  the  tablecloth,  with  butter  from  a 


96  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

bread-and-butter  plate.  Nothing  in  the  world  aggra- 
vated Mrs.  Hardy  so  much  as  to  see  anyone  spread 
bread  on  the  tablecloth.  Her  retort,  therefore,  was 
quick. 

"They  are  more  interested  in  manners.  Can't  you  see 
your  plate,  Mr.  Hardy?" 

Mr.  Hardy  cut  the  bread  on  the  cloth  with  childish 
satisfaction. 

"I'll  eat  as  I  like  in  my  own  house,"  he  declared  with 
considerable  vigor. 

"And  I  object  to  watching  such  vulgarity.  Annie,  you 
may  serve  my  dessert  in  my  room."  And  Mrs.  Hardy 
swept  upstairs  to  enjoy  her  nesselrode  pudding  in  the 
cheering  and  calming  company  of  Marcus  Aurelius.  As 
for  Mr.  Hardy,  he  literally  ploughed  through  the  remainder 
of  the  meal,  his  head  lowered  and  his  eyes  avoiding  his 
daughter's  glances,  as  if  he  had  been  a  child  shamefully 
caught  in  the  jam  closet.  Then  he  stamped  out  defi- 
antly, with  the  evident  intention  of  making  noise  enough 
to  express  all  the  things  he  had  not  said,  and  went  down 
to  the  Hampstead  Club  for  the  evening. 

Ordinarily  Clare  Hardy  would  have  been  neither  pained 
nor  amused  over  the  trivial  disagreement  of  her  parents. 
She  was  too  accustomed  to  it.  But  to-night  she  was  dis- 
turbed, and  she  dawdled  over  her  coffee,  trying  to  tell 
herself  that  it  was  not  in  any  way  her  fault  and  that  there 
was  nothing  on  earth  that  she  could  do  to  put  an  end  to 
it.  And,  having  definitely  accepted  in  her  mind  both  of 
these  conclusions,  she  denied  them  immediately  in  action 
by  going  to  her  mother's  room  for  the  first  time  in  weeks. 
Mrs.  Hardy  was  so  surprised  and  so  delighted  inwardly  by 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  97 

this  unexpected  amiability  on  the  part  of  her  daughter 
that  she  treated  the  girl  as  if  she  were  a  child  again,  and 
spent  the  better  part  of  the  following  half-hour  in  serious 
admonition  and  advice.  By  the  end  of  that  time  Clare's 
frank  sympathies  were  entirely  with  her  father — and  her- 
self; and  she  returned  vigorously  to  her  earlier  conclu- 
sions about  the  futility  of  trying  to  make  husbands  and 
wives  compatible.  She  had  just  definitely  made  up  her 
mind  that  the  thing  was  impossible  when  she  mentioned 
casually  that  she  was  expecting  Billy  McNish  that  even- 
ing. Impossible?  Of  course  it  was.  Husbands  and 
wives  never  agreed.  Everyone  knew  that.  There  was 
nothing  to  do.  There  was  not  one  of  her  friends  who  had 
married  whom  she  considered  really  contented.  It  is 
curious  that  nearly  all  cynics  are  young. 

" He's  a  very  persistent  person,  isn't  he?"  Mrs.  Hardy 
leaned  forward  with  the  sudden  interest  of  a  married 
woman  who  scents  the  possibility  of  a  match.  "I  like 
him.  I  don't  know  of  another  young  man  in  town  who 
is  always  so  well  groomed.  And  he  is  doing  very  well,  I 
hear.  Really,  my  dear,  it  is  time  you  were  married. 
After  all,  there  is  only  one  cardinal  sin  for  a  woman, 
Clare,  and  that  is  to  be  unmarried  at  thirty.  And  you 
have  only  five  years  of  grace  left." 

*'Time  enough  to  fall  in  love  a  dozen  times."  Miss 
Hardy  had  no  intention  of  discussing  at  that  moment  this 
particular  problem  with  her  particular  mother.  She 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"Love,  my  dear,"  sighed  Mrs.  Hardy,  "is  a  luxury; 
marriage  is  a  necessity." 

Now,  Clare  Hardy  had  always  objected  to  this  point  of 


98  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

view,  and  she  hated  the  word  "necessity"  with  all  her 
heart. 

"  I'm  never  going  to  be  married.  I  want  to  be  happy," 
she  declared  as  she  left  the  room.  And  perhaps,  by  that 
hasty  remark,  she  unconsciously  denied  again  the  conclu- 
sions she  had  made  over  her  coffee;  for  Mrs.  Hardy  sat 
for  a  long  time  soberly  repeating  the  words.  Then  she 
sobbed  gently  in  a  lace  handkerchief.  She  was  a  sensi- 
tive woman. 

When  Billy  McNish  arrived  Miss  Hardy  was  at  the 
piano  improvising.  She  nodded  when  he  came  into  the 
room,  but  she  went  on  with  her  playing.  No  woman  who 
knew  Billy  well  ever  stopped  doing  anything  because  he 
appeared.  They  treated  him  with  the  same  bon  camara- 
derie they  would  have  shown  toward  women  who  were 
upon  the  same  intimate  footing.  In  a  way  this  might 
have  been  considered  a  compliment.  It  is  certain  that 
Billy  in  his  expansive  and  delightful  egotism  so  consid- 
ered it.  And  he  had  good  reason.  Unquestionably  there 
was  no  man  in  Hampstead  so  popular  with  its  femi- 
nine population  as  genial,  free-and-easy,  roly-poly  Billy 
McNish.  And  so  Miss  Hardy  continued  with  her  im- 
provising, and  Billy  leaned  at  the  side  of  the  piano  and 
prepared  his  very  best  smile  for  her  when  she  would  look 
up  at  him. 

"  I  wish  you'd  sit  down."  Miss  Hardy  was  certain  that 
Billy  was  posing  again,  and  she  was  determined  not  to  sat- 
isfy him  by  looking  at  him. 

"But  I  can't  see  you  so  well  if  I  do."  The  beginnings 
of  his  smile  appeared,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  a  pleasant 
remark,  and  everybody  knew  that  all  ladies  liked  pleasant 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


remarks.  Billy  knew  it,  at  any  rate,  from  long  experi- 
ence. 

"That's  the  reason  I  wish  you  to  sit  down,"  she  said, 
rolling  a  very  volcano  of  sound  in  the  rumbling  bass. 
Why  couldn't  Billy  do  as  he  was  told? 

"But  I  came  to  see  you."  Charming  Billy!  Miss 
Hardy  was  on  the  point  of  looking  up  at  him.  Then  her 
hands  crashed  off  upon  a  new  movement — for  Clare  Hardy 
played  with  much  of  the  firmness  and  vigor  of  a  man — 
accelerating  with  a  rapid  crescendo  to  a  brilliant  climax, 
irritated  music,  noisy  music.  She  was  expressing  her 
mood.  Billy  had  retired  to  a  chair  behind  her  back.  He 
had  discreetly,  as  he  thought,  done  the  thing  that  would 
be  pleasing  to  her.  The  girl's  music  wandered  off  into 
minors  of  disappointment.  Why  had  he  done  it?  Why 
did  he  always  give  in  to  her?  He  should  have  known  that 
all  the  time  she  really  longed  to  look  up  at  him,  to  admire 
his  pose,  to  enjoy  his  smile.  Miss  Hardy  liked  Billy 
greatly,  but  there  was  always  something  a  trifle  wrong 
with  him.  He  was  very  slightly  too  flexible;  that  was 
it,  too  flexible.  If  someone  could  only  stiffen  him  a 
little  he  would — but,  then,  no  one  could  really  be  aggra- 
vated at  Billy  McNish  for  two  consecutive  minutes,  and 
Miss  Hardy  soon  turned  from  the  piano  and  lectured  him 
sharply  because  he  was  obstinate  over  leaving  his  place. 
Then  she  commanded  him  to  tell  her  about  himself,  and 
Billy,  who  was  willing  to  be  accommodating  after  two  or 
three  introductory  remarks  to  the  effect  that  "  there  was 
really  nothing  to  tell,"  confided  in  her  for  the  first  time 
his  new  political  ambitions  and  hopes  and  fears. 

Billy  always  talked  about  himself  to  women  with  a  pro- 


100  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

found  humility  which  forced  the  listener  to  contradict  his 
self-judgments,  a  method  that  was  exceedingly  satisfac- 
tory to  both.  The  feminine  mind  seldom,  if  ever,  dreamt 
of  any  insincerity  in  Billy's  remarks.  His  open-hearted 
and  often  well-calculated  frankness  was  disarming. 
In  fact,  the  only  person  who  ever  really  discovered 
Billy  was  Billy  himself  in  his  better  moments.  "I'm 
nothing  but  a  confounded  play-actor,"  he  would  groan  in 
his  self-abasement.  And,  following  the  custom  of  the 
Hampstead  ladies,  we  must  contradict  him  again  in  his 
humility.  Billy  McNish  was  a  great  deal  more  than  "a 
confounded  play-actor."  He  was  a  generous,  fresh- 
minded,  friendly  fellow,  unusually  brilliant  over  any 
piece  of  work  that  appealed  to  him,  with  ideals  that  he 
really  tried  to  live  up  to,  and  with  a  realization  of  his  own 
failings  that  was  almost  morbidly  keen.  And  if  he  liked 
to  have  other  people's  approval  expressed  in  words,  he  was 
never  in  anyone's  debt  for  long.  He  said  more  compli- 
mentary things  about  his  friends  behind  their  backs  than 
they  ever  said  about  him  to  his  face.  And  he  meant 
what  he  said,  or  at  least  he  thought  he  did  at  the  time — 
and  it  is  on  this,  perhaps,  that  a  man  like  Billy  McNish 
ought  to  be  judged. 

It  was  perfectly  natural,  therefore,  that  to-night,  as  he 
opened  his  ambitious  heart  to  Miss  Hardy,  Billy  spoke  of 
Gilbert's  promise  to  help  him. 

"And  Jack's  word's  as  good  as  his  bond,"  he  went  on 
enthusiastically.  "He'll  work  like  a  trooper.  He  would 
anyhow.  He's  that  sort.  Wish  there  were  more  like 
him.  But  there  aren't.  Never  seems  to  think  of  him- 
self somehow.     Not  enough  for  his  own  good.     Probably 


THE    BALANCE    OF    PDWEii  tOl 

'11  never  amount  to  much;  too  good-hearted  and  too  slow. 
But  he's  the  sort  to  hang  to." 

Clare  Hardy  never  admired  Billy  so  much  as  when  he 
talked  of  his  men  friends.  There  was  to  her  always  some- 
thing supremely  fine,  supremely  strong  about  the  friend- 
ship of  a  man  for  a  man.  It  was  the  one  thing  that  made 
her  sorry  that  she  was  a  woman. 

"Do  you  see  much  of  him?"  Billy  put  the  question 
casually. 

Miss  Hardy  shook  her  head.  She  had  not  told  Billy  on 
Sunday  about  the  incident  on  the  Clear  Lake  hillside. 
And  somehow  she  did  not  like  to  tell  him.  She  knew  that 
his  face  would  grow  sober,  for  no  reason  at  all,  of  course, 
and  that  now  he  would  wonder  why  she  had  not  told  him 
when  the  thing  happened.  And  she  had  not  told  him 
then,  because — yes,  because — after  all,  why  should  she 
have  told  him?    It  was  really  of  no  importance. 

Meanwhile  Billy  had  plunged  into  a  humorous  account 
of  Mr.  Jethro's  inopportune  call  at  the  church  supper  the 
night  before,  and  she  was  soon  laughing  over  his  descrip- 
tion—for Billy  had  a  gift  of  droll  caricature,  and  his  stories 
were  usually  as  real  as  life  itself ,— and  nodding  her  head 
approvingly  over  Gilbert's  part  in  it. 

"Why  didn't  you  do  it  yourself?"  she  broke  in 
abruptly,  to  Billy's  discomfiture.  One  reason  why  Billy 
McNish  liked  her  more  than  he  liked  other  girls  was  that 
she  had  this  way  of  asking  frankly  disconcerting  ques- 
tions. He  was  not  as  certain  of  his  masculine  supe- 
riority with  her  as  he  was  with  the  others. 

"Well,  you  see,  I  shouldn't  have  known  how  to  do  it." 
It  was  said  with  Billy's  appealing  frankness.     "It's  not 


loa  THfi    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

my  line — dealing  with  that  kind  of  men.  It  is  Jack's. 
That's  why  he'll  be  such  a  help  at  the  election.  And 
that's  why  I'll  probably  never  win,  never  in  the  world." 

And  before  she  knew  it  Billy  was  drawing  a  lugubrious 
picture  of  his  broken-hearted  defeat  at  the  polls,  and  she 
was  impulsively  cheering  him  and  telling  him  how  popular 
he  was,  and  how  certain  he  was  of  victory,  and  many  other 
similar  things  which  Billy  liked  to  hear.  Then,  when  he 
began  to  glow  once  more  with  self-satisfaction,  she  assured 
him  that  he  would  never  win  anything  if  he  kept  saying 
that  he  wouldn't.  And  he  grew  very  sober,  and  told  her 
that  she  was  the  only  person  who  really  understood  him, 
and  that  her  encouragement  was  the  only  thing  that  he 
cared  a  snap  of  his  fingers  about,  and  that  if  he  ever  ac- 
complished anything  it  was  because  she  was  his  inspira- 
tion; that  she  knew  he Miss  Hardy  had  heard  all 

this  before,  but  she  never  had  allowed  him  to  finish  it  ex- 
cept once.  It  had  been  very  hard  for  her  then,  for  she 
liked  Billy  McNish  very  much  better  than  any  man  she 
knew,  and  she  knew  that  he  was  as  earnest  about  it  as  he 
could  possibly  be  about  anything.  Now,  therefore,  she 
told  him  that  he  must  not  be  idiotic,  and  asked  him  if  his 
father  was  well.  Billy  despairingly  said  that  he  believed 
Mr.  McNish  was  enjoying  his  accustomed  good  health,  and 
they  talked  about  other  and  less  interesting  topics  until 
it  was  time  for  him  to  go. 

Miss  Hardy  listened  to  his  melodious  whistling  as  he 
went  down  the  walk,  and  her  pride  was  piqued  that  he 
did  not  seem  to  be  really  very  sad  about  those  interrupted 
remarks  of  his.  After  all,  if  Billy  was  only  a  little  less 
flexible,  perhaps 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  103 

As  she  climbed  the  stairs,  her  mother  called  her. 

"I  see  by  the  paper,"  Mrs.  Hardy  informed  her  with  a 
long  face, "  that  Nelson  Strutt  sails  for  Europe  to-morrow." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"Why,  he  was  to  come  to  your  party,  your  Fourth  of 
July  party.  It  is  very  unfortunate,  dear;  one  of  the  best 
families  in  town.  There  must  be  somebody  else  now,  I 
suppose,"  added  Mrs.  Hardy  wearily,  "and  there  are  so 
few  really  nice  people  to  ask." 

The  Fourth  of  July  party  was  one  of  Clare  Hardy's 
original  ideas.  No  one  in  Hampstead  had  ever  thought 
of  any  diversion  for  the  national  holiday,  beyond  the 
usual  firecrackers  and  torpedoes  for  the  children,  and  the 
usual  fireworks  in  the  evening,  and  the  usual  accidents 
and  doctors'  bills.  Miss  Hardy,  therefore,  out  of  her 
insistent  desire  for  something  that  was  new,  had  con- 
ceived the  plan  of  inviting  all  of  the  desirable  young  people 
who  had  passed  the  firecracker  age,  and  who  had  not  as 
yet  reached  the  period  when  a  costlier  display  of  rockets 
and  Roman  candles  than  their  neighbors  could  afford 
satisfied  their  pride,  to  help  her  celebrate  the  holiday  in 
her  own  way.  The  invitations  were  at  that  moment  in 
her  room,  ready  to  be  addressed  and  posted  the  next 
morning. 

Miss  Hardy  thought  quickly,  and  as  usual  decided  out 
of  her  impulses. 

"I  think  it  might  please  Dad,"  she  said  with  a  very 
proper  suggestion  of  doubt  in  her  voice,  "if  we  should 
invite  John  Gilbert." 

"Why,  he's  only  a  workman,  my  dear,"  remonstrated 
Mrs.  Hardy. 


104  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"But  he  comes  of  good  family,  you  know.  And  I 
really  think  it  would  please  Dad." 

"Perhaps  so.'*  Perhaps  Mrs  Hardy's  tears  of  earlier 
in  the  evening  helped  her  to  consider  the  argument.  "  And 
then,  too,  it  will  make  us  seem  democratic  without " 

"Our  really  being  so."  Clare  Hardy  finished  the  sen- 
tence with  a  gentle  sarcasm  that  was  lost  on  her  mother. 

She  herself  directed  the  envelope.  Of  course  it  was 
only  for  character  study. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   BEGINNINGS   OF   A    CABINET 

LIFE  had  a  new  zest  for  Gilbert.  He  had  taken  his 
promotion  quietly  enough,  but  he  felt  an  inward 
exhilaration  now  as  he  went  about  his  new  work 
and  accepted  his  new  responsibilities.  It  had  affected 
him  as  a  smile  and  a  nod  of  approval  or  a  hearty  shake  of 
the  hand  affected  him — those  little,  human  things  that  in 
some  mysterious  way  make  the  pilot  wheel  of  life  spin 
more  easily,  and  give  the  hands  of  our  souls  a  firmer  grip 
on  the  spokes.  We  may  scoff  at  them  in  our  moments 
of  arrogant  independence,  but  they  do  not  come  often 
enough  in  the  lives  of  most  of  us,  to  ever  lose  their  first 
novelty  or  power  Outwardly,  however,  Gilbert  did  not 
change,  and  the  men  in  the  shops,  who  expected  to  see 
him  assume  Simpson's  old  shell  of  ostentatious  dignity, 
were  disappointed.  It  is  a  weak  leader  who  must  have 
the  mark  of  his  position  pinned  upon  him  to  be  recog- 
nized. 

Many  of  the  men  quickly  caught  the  new  spirit  without 
knowing  why  or  how  it  came  to  them.  There  seemed  to 
be  more  pleasure  in  working  for  a  comrade,  who  wore  over- 
alls and  who  did  not  mind  dirtying  his  hands,  than  in 
slaving  for  a  man  who  always  looked  as  if  he  had  just 
come  from  a  bandbox  and  who  spent  most  of  his  time  in 

105 


106  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

his  office.  Of  course  there  were  foreigners,  newcomers 
for  the  most  part,  whom  it  was  necessary  to  boss  until 
they  learned  to  understand  friendlier  treatment;  and  there 
were  a  few  men  like  Jethro,  suspicious,  jealous,  always 
looking  for  trouble — a  kind  of  undergroimd  vermin  that 
loosens  the  foundations  of  many  a  factory  and  that,  in  the 
end,  often  brings  the  entire  structure  tumbling  ruinously 
upon  owners  and  men  alike.  It  was  evident,  also,  that 
some  of  the  older  men  were  shaking  their  heads  over  the 
change.  Gilbert  overheard  part  of  a  conversation  during 
the  first  day  of  his  new  responsibilities. 

"He  won't  be  superintendent  long  if  I  know  anything." 
The  voice  came  to  him  from  around  the  corner  in  the 
packing  room.  "Hardy'll  run  the  place,  and  Jack  ain't 
the  kind  to  knuckle  under.  Simpson  used  to  tell  me  how 
he'd  get  put  behind  two  or  three  days  on  some  jobs  be- 
cause 'the  old  man'  butted  in." 

"Simpson  was  always  complaining  about  something." 

"That's  because  he  caught  you  soldiering." 

"Gilbert,  he  don't  have  much  to  say." 

"Jack's  deceivin'.  He  looks  like  a  shamblin',  good- 
natured  colt,  but  he  can  kick  if  anyone  tries  to  ride  him." 

Gilbert  smiled.  He  didn't  take  any  stock  in  that  kind 
of  talk.  Why  should  he?  "The  old  man"  never  had  in- 
terfered with  him,  at  least  not  in  any  way  that  affected  the 
work  of  the  shop.  He  knew  factory  men's  talk;  how  they 
planned  out  many  kinds  of  incidents  that  might  occur 
among  their  "bosses,"  but  never  did.  He  smiled  in  his 
leisurely,  good-humored  way  and  went  on  with  his  work. 
But  Saturday  morning  he  knocked  at  Hardy's  door  and 
he  was  not  smiling.     "The  old  man"  had  countermanded 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  107 

an  order  he  had  given,  and  the  interference  meant  delay 
and  confusion. 

"Guess  I've  made  a  mistake,  Mr.  Hardy,"  he  drawled 
as  the  president  turned  sharply  at  the  interruption. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  thought  you  made  me  superintendent  of  the  shop. 
Nobody  to  interfere  and  all  that." 

"So  I  did.  What's  the  row?"  Mr.  Hardy  scented  a 
complaint  of  insubordination. 

"Just  a  minute."  Gilbert  picked  up  the  telephone 
receiver  on  Mr.  Hardy's  desk.  "Hello,  foundry  please." 
There  was  a'{)ause.  "  Hello,  foundry?  This  you,  Grady? 
Mr.  Hardy  misunderstood  about  those  Number  893  pat- 
terns.    Put  the  work  right  through." 

He  put  down  the  receiver,  thanked  the  astonished 
president  and  left  the  room.  Gilbert  never  knew  how 
dangerously  near  he  was  to  dismissal  in  the  next  few 
minutes,  nor  how  many  times  Sam  Hardy's  finger  trem- 
bled over  the  button  that  rang  the  superintendent's  bell. 
It  was  a  novel  experience  for  the  domineering  "  old  man," 
but  he  was  having  other  novel  experiences.  He  had 
found  himself,  during  the  last  day  or  two,  worrying  for  the 
first  time  about  the  future  of  "his  shops."  Gilbert's 
frank  talk  two  days  before  had  left  its  mark  upon  Mr. 
Hardy's  mind,  a  mark  that  he  could  not  erase,  however 
hard  he  tried.  He  felt  unconsciously  the  need  of  a  strong 
man  behind  him,  and  at  last  he  turned,  growling  to  him- 
self, back  to  his  desk  and  his  papers.  But  of  course  he 
held  a  kind  of  grudge  against  his  superintendent  for  it, 
and  that  noon  Miss  Hardy  had  the  satisfaction,  although 
that  young  woman  was  not  certain  that  she  was  entirely 


108  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

satisfied,  of  hearing  some  unvarnished  criticism  of  John 
Gilbert — cynical  remarks  about  the  sort  of  men  who 
take  a  mile  if  you  give  them  an  inch,  the  sort  of  men  that 
a  promotion  spoils,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing. 

Gilbert  went  home  to  find  his  mother  on  well-concealed 
tip-toe  about  a  small  envelope  which  had  been  left  at  the 
door  that  morning,  and  she  beamed  at  him  like  any  young 
girl  as  she  read  and  re-read  the  card  which  it  inclosed. 
To  Gilbert  the  invitation  was  merely  a  cordial  compli- 
ment from  Mr.  Hardy  himself.  Perhaps,  he  thought  to 
himself,  he  had  been  a  bit  hasty  that  morning.  But  to 
her  it  was  something  miraculously  fine,  soAiething  that 
brought  with  it  a  flavor  of  their  old  prosperous  days. 
She  could  remember  cards,  not  unlike  this  one,  that  she 
herself  had  sent  from  the  big  house  down  the  street. 
And  while  she  assured  him  that  they  ought  to  have  done 
it  long  ago,  she  was  inwardly  delighted  that  they  had  done 
it  at  all.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  a  certain  fear  mixed  with 
her  delight.  She  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  Mr. 
Hardy.  The  girl  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  of  course. 
Gilbert  noticed  that  she  was  looking  at  him  intently,  and 
he  heard  the  tap  of  her  foot  on  the  floor. 

"I  can't  seem  to  understand  that  you're  really  grown 
up,"  she  remarked  with  some  confusion. 

"I'm  not."  Gilbert  smiled,  but  his  mother  shook  her 
head  soberly. 

"  Mothers  are  like  that,  laddie.  They  like  their  boys  to 
be  always  their  boys;  and  every  larger  pair  of  trousers 
they  have  to  buy  brings  a  lump  to  their  throats.  I'll 
never  forget  the  shock  it  was  to  me  when  I  found  you 
wore  the  same  size  shirt  your  father  used  to  wear." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  109 

"Growing  big  isn't  growing  up,  mother." 

"True,  laddie,  true/' 

Now  she  smiled  back  at  him,  and  when  he  started  off 
after  dinner  for  Kemper's  Park  to  play  a  game  of  baseball 
in  the  factory  league,  the  idea  of  it  seemed  to  answer  her 
mood.  Playing  baseball  I  He  was  only  a  boy  after  all. 
What  simple  little  things  in  us  all  satisfy  and  cheer  the 
mothers!  How  they  create  splendid  illusions  about  us 
merely  for  the  sake  of  deceiving  themselves!  How  they 
delight  in  believing  us  to  be  what  they  know  in  their  heart 
of  hearts  we  are  not.  And  yet,  without  their  illusions  and 
their  self-deceptions,  what  a  world  of  pure  contentment 
and  joy  would  vanish  away  out  of  their  lives!  It  was  so 
with  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  if  one  of  the  illusions  which  formed 
the  image  of  Jack  in  her  heart  was  shattered,  she  promptly 
brushed  away  the  ruins  and  created  another  in  its  place. 

Of  all  the  many  secret  societies  that  thrived  in  Hamp- 
stead — and  there  was  one  for  every  two  score  of  voters — 
none  was  so  often  mentioned  in  the  News  and  Register  as 
the  Edward  Strutt  Council,  D.  L.  O.  P.  It  had  been 
formed  when  Mr.  Strutt  was  at  the  height  of  his  glory  as 
Congressman,  and  he  had  written  a  letter  from  Washing- 
ton, a  letter  which  hung  now  in  a  cheap  but  gaudy  frame 
on  a  whitewashed  wall  of  the  society's  rooms,  permitting 
the  council  to  use  his  name.  The  members  were,  for  the 
greater  part,  skilled  workmen  from  the  mills,  and,  as  far 
as  Strutt  Council,  D.  L.  O.  P.,  was  concerned,  they  lived 
up  to  the  name.  They  worked.  They  organized  fairs 
for  their  general  funds;  they  engineered  concerts  for  their 
sick  and  benevolent  association;  they  developed  an  ama- 
teur comic  opera  company  which  gave  performances  at 


110  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

the  Hampstead  Opera  House  to  endow  a  D.  L.  O.  P.  bed 
at  the  hospital;  they  paraded  in  wonderful  uniforms  on 
the  slightest  provocation;  and  the  G.  H.  T.,  or  Grand 
High  Treasurer,  was  never  forced  to  face  a  deficit.  They 
were  giving,  this  very  week  of  Gilbert's  promotion,  a  three 
nights'  bazaar  at  the  large  armory  on  Broad  Street,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of  deceased  members. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  most  important  feature 
of  the  bazaar  was  the  list  of  prizes,  and,  since  the  numbers 
were  to  be  drawn  on  the  last  night,  the  people  began  to 
pour  into  the  big  brick  building  before  the  streets  outside, 
filled  with  the  Saturday  night  crowd,  were  dark.  Of 
course  there  were  other  attractions  in  the  big  drill  hall. 
There  were  the  usual  booths  decorated  with  the  usual  gay 
bunting — pinned  up  so  cleverly  that  the  holes  and  faded 
places  seldom  showed, — behind  which  stood  the  usual 
shop-girls  and  shop-wives  and  shop-daughters  of  the  D. 
L.  O.  P.,  selling  the  usual  things,  from  imitation  tortoise- 
shell  combs  to  imitation  ice  cream.  An  orchestra  on  a 
temporary  stage  was  making  the  usual  disturbance,  or 
lounging  back  nonchalantly  after  an  effort,  doing  their 
best  to  look  as  if  they  disliked  their  prominence.  Young 
girls  were  sifting  through  the  crowd  selling  "chances" 
on  a  sewing-machine,  which  husbands  bought  because 
wives  were  interested  in  both  the  sewing-machine  and 
the  "chances."  The  people  from  outside  kept  crowding  in, 
elbowing  their  way  through  the  tightly  packed  masses,  and 
there  was  so  much  noise  that  one  had  to  shout  to  be  heard. 
The  thermometer  was  at  eighty  and  rising  every  minute,  and 
nearly  everyone  was  having  an  outrageously  good  time. 

Gilbert  leaned  against  the  candy  counter  near  the  door 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  111 

and  talked  with  Gilshannon  of  the  News.  He  liked  Gil- 
shannon  with  his  bright,  cynical  talk  and  his  generous 
Irish  heart  that  gave  the  lie  to  it.  Like  most  reporters 
Gilshannon  had  a  good  supply  of  gossip  at  his  tongue's 
end,  and,  unlike  most  reporters,  he  analyzed  his  gossip; 
he  took  it  to  pieces;  and  he  laughed  at  it.  It  was  very 
entertaining.  The  men  of  Hampstead  liked  Gilshannon. 
He  admitted  it  frankly,  and  he  said  that  this  accounted 
for  his  good-natured  contempt  for  people.  How  could  he 
have  any  respect  for  the  fools  who  were  not  clever  enough 
to  see  through  him;  who  liked  him,  in  a  word?  His  mind 
seemed  always  busy  with  new  theories  and  sophistries, 
which  often  turned  upon  him,  boomerang-like;  but  few  of 
his  friends  took  them  seriously.  Certainly  he  never  did. 
And  so,  although  he  scoffed  at  clothes,  he  took  great  care 
to  look  well;  and,  although  he  declared  that  good  humor 
was  an  evidence  of  weakness,  there  was  no  smile  in  Hamp- 
stead more  constant  than  that  about  his  bearded  mouth; 
and,  although  he  often  said  that  a  newspaper  man  was 
just  nobody  at  all,  he  swaggered  about  the  streets  as  if  he 
owned  them. 

Gilshannon  saw  her  coming,  but  he  did  not  mention  it. 
He  broke  off  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence: 

"  It's  a  begging  fest,"  he  remarked.  "  If  you  stay  long 
in  one  place  you  get  collared.  Your  only  hope  is  to  keep 
moving.  Nothing  to  see  anyhow  except  the  people.  If 
you  get  a  bunch  of  people  together  anywhere,  you  can 
charge  admission  to  those  that  are  outside.  They  like  to 
herd.     I'm  off.     'Night,  Jack." 

A  moment  later  Gilbert  was  confronted  by  Miss  Gerty 
Smith,  all  in  clinging,  flimsy  white,  a  huge  wad  of  her 


112  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

bright  yellow  hair  built  up  at  the  edge  of  her  forehead  at 
almost  exactly  the  tilt  of  the  tip  of  her  upturned  nose. 
Her  eyes  had  the  triumphant  glint  of  capture,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  exquisitely  rounded  bare  arm  and 
prodded  the  collection  box  almost  in  his  face. 

"Something  for  the  orphans?" 

Her  tone  was  business-like,  and  Gilbert  mechanically 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

"Ought  to  be  something  big  from  a  man  with  a  big 
job  like  yours." 

Gilbert  dropped  back  the  dime  he  had  chosen  and  drew 
forth  a  quarter  instead.  He  knew  that  he  had  come  to 
the  bazaar  partly  to  see  this  girl.  He  knew  that  he  wished 
to  understand  her.  There  had  been  a  time  when  he  en- 
joyed watching  her  physical  beauty,  her  animal  graceful- 
ness, although  the  charm  always  disappeared  when  she 
spoke  to  him.  Now  his  thought  was  concentrated  on  the 
problem  of  the  shop  and  her  relation  to  it.  But  he  found 
himself  hesitating,  scarcely  knowing,  now  that  she  had 
come  to  him,  how  to  talk  to  her. 

"That^s  the  business,"  she  remarked,  as  the  silver  rat- 
tled in  the  box.     "Guess  you  got  a  raise  all  right." 

He  merely  shook  his  head,  and  she  turned  away  with  a 
half-hidden  grimace.  She  was  frankly  piqued  about  this 
big  Mr.  Gilbert.  Most  of  the  men  stared  at  her  with  open- 
eyed  admiration,  and  she  liked  it.  But  she  did  not  like 
the  look  that  she  usually  saw  in  his  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
hurt  her  pride. 

"Wait  a  minute.     I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  talk  quick.  My  time's  worth 
about  a  dollar  a  minute  to  the  widows  and  orphans." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  113 

"All  right/'  Gilbert  drawled.  "I'll  wait  till  your  time 
is  cheaper." 

He  settled  back  against  the  candy  counter,  and  looked 
past  her  toward  the  platform,  where  the  orchestra  had 
been  pushed  back  from  its  proud  position  to  make  room 
for  the  ceremony  of  drawing  the  prizes.  But  her  woman's 
curiosity  was  aroused,  and  she  stood  waiting  irreso- 
lutely. 

"Suppose  you  like  being  superintendent?"  she  re- 
marked tentatively. 

"Lots  of  possible  difficulties.  Suppose,  for  example,  I 
had  a  man  under  me  who  stole  information  about  new 
machines  we  haven't  patented,  and  sold  it  to  somebody 
outside." 

The  crowd  had  become  suddenly  quiet  and  was  pressing 
toward  the  platform.  The  luck  of  the  first  draw  was 
about  to  be  announced.  Miss  Gerty  Smith  paid  no  atten- 
tion, however.  She  was  obviously  startled  and  her  face 
was  slightly  flushed. 

"Well,  what  'Id  you  do?"  She  tried  to  speak  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  I  don't  quite  know.     That's  one  of  the  difficulties." 

"Silver  water  pitcher."  The  voice  of  the  announcer 
interrupted  them,  and  the  mass  about  them  craned  its 
neck  and  sharpened  its  ears  and  held  its  breath.  "  Num- 
ber 4178.     Number  4178  is  Joseph  Heffler." 

An  audible  sigh  came  from  the  crowd,  and  it  was  fol- 
lowed quickly  by  a  number  of  perfectly  distinct  hisses. 
^t  that  instant  Gilbert,  looking  up,  caught  sight  of  a  short 
man  with  a  young,  beardless  face  and  a  contrasting  shock 
of  prematurely  gray  hair.    The  man  was  almost  at  the 


114  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

edge  of  the  crowd,  and  Gilbert  saw  the  face  grow  suddenly 
red  and  drawn  at  the  hisses.  It  was  an  attractive  face, 
and  the  man's  evident  suffering  seized  upon  Gilbert's 
sympathies.  The  announcement  of  the  second  drawing 
came  almost  immediately,  and  the  man  with  the  gray  hair 
slipped  from  his  place  and  started  for  the  door,  almost 
brushing  Gilbert  as  he  passed.  But  a  woman's  hand 
stopped  him  as,  his  head  bent,  he  hurried  by,  and  Miss 
Gerty  Smith  spoke,  her  hard,  sharp  voice  modulated  until 
it  seemed  almost  kind: 

"Good-night,  Joe.     You  won  quick." 

The  man  with  the  gray  hair  looked  up,  smiled  and 
passed  out. 

Gilbert  knew  about  this  Joe  Heffler.  Gilshannon  had 
been  talking  about  him  that  very  night.  Gilshannon  had 
dismissed  him  from  conversation  by  remarking  that  "he 
was  no  good,  no  good  on  earth."  And  Heffler 's  record 
affirmed  Gilshannon's  opinion.  Heffler  had  worked  at 
the  Hubbard  mills  once,  but  he  had  been  caught  embez- 
zling the  factory  funds  and  had  served  three  years  in 
prison.  He  had  had  a  hard  time  finding  work  after  that, 
but  finally  he  had  been  given  a  chance  as  clerk  in  the 
Water  Commissioners'  office.  A  few  months  ago  he  had 
lost  the  place,  however,  and  rumor,  always  eager  to  strike 
a  man  who  is  down,  said  that  he  had  been  caught  stealing 
again.  But  Gilbert's  sympathies,  when  they  were  fully 
aroused — and  the  poignant  pain  on  Heffler's  face  had 
aroused  them, — always  made  him  impulsive.  He  forgot 
Miss  Gerty  Smith  entirely,  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he 
followed  the  man  whom  Gilshannon  had  said  "was  no 
good"  out  into  the  night.     The  man  was  standing  at  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  115 

comer,  indecisively  looking  up  and  down  Main  Street, 
when  Gilbert  came  up  behind  him. 

"My  name's  John  Gilbert,  Joe  Heffler.  Walk  a  bit 
with  me,  will  you?     It's  a  fine  night." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  linked  his  arm  in 
Heffler's,  and  they  were  tramping  up  one  of  the  deserted 
side  streets  almost  before  Heffler  knew  what  was  hap- 
pening. They  walked  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  Joe  Heffler,  silent  and  suspicious  at  first, 
was  talking  freely  of  himself,  talking  with  the  eager  joy  of 
a  man  who  has  been  schooled  to  silence.  And  Gilbert, 
listening,  realized  that  there  is  a  harder  solitary  confine- 
ment than  that  of  the  prison, — the  solitary  confinement  of 
the  free  streets  of  a  free  land,  with  public  opinion,  its  head 
turned  away,  passing  by  on  the  opposite  side. 

"It's  none  of  my  business,  you  know,"  Gilbert  inter- 
rupted him  once.  He  felt  vaguely  that  he  owed  the  man 
an  apology  for  merely  listening. 

"It's  anybody's  business,  sir,"  said  Heffler  bitterly. 

It  was  a  simple  story  enough,  the  old  story  of  taking 
money  that  he  thought  he  could  replace,  money  that  was 
needed  at  the  moment  to  make  his  ailing  mother  com- 
fortable. Heffler  told  it  all  with  an  almost  frantic  frank- 
ness. He  made  no  excuses.  He  laid  bare  every  personal 
motive.  He  said  that,  when  he  found  the  stealing  easy, 
he  took  more  than  he  needed;  and  he  admitted  that,  if  he 
had  not  been  caught,  he  would  probably  have  taken  even 
more.  He  felt  that  the  shame  of  it  had  killed  his  mother, 
but  he  did  not  blame  Mr.  Hubbard.  He  blamed  himself. 
And  at  this  juncture  of  the  story  Gilbert  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  gruffly  told  him  to  "  brace  up."     Heffler 


116  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

had  little  to  say  about  the  years  in  prison  or  about  those 
that  had  followed  since  his  release.  He  had  returned  to 
Hampstead  with  the  intention  of  living  down  his  mistake, 
and  he  had  found  it  a  hard  task.  He  could  not  explain 
why  he  had  lost  his  place  in  the  Water  Commissioners' 
office.  Captain  Merrivale,  the  chairman  of  the  board,  had 
always  seemed  friendly  to  him  until  about  a  month  before 
he  had  been  dismissed.  He  had  said  something  at  that 
time  against  the  purchase  of  some  land  at  the  Hamp- 
stead reservoir,  and  Captain  Merrivale  had  been  dis- 
pleased by  his  remarks;  but  there  were  certainly  no 
grounds  in  that  for  dismissing  him. 

Gilbert  remembered  the  CounciFs  authorizing  the  Water 
Commissioners  to  buy  the  land.  He  was  interested.  He 
asked  Heffler  to  tell  him  more  about  it,  and  Heffler,  sur- 
prised, told  him  what  little  he  knew.  The  land  on  the 
north  of  the  reservoir  was  hilly  and  high  priced;  the  land 
on  the  south  and  west  was  level  and  cheap.  For  an  addi- 
tional reservoir  and  canal,  the  latter  seemed  better  to 
him;  that  was  all.  He  knew  little  about  it.  The  land  on 
the  south  and  west  was  owned  by  farmers.  The  strip  on 
the  north,  the  land  that  had  been  purchased  by  the  com- 
missioners, was  held  by  a  syndicate,  in  which,  he  knew 
from  the  records,  Mr.  Hubbard  and  ex-Congressman 
Strutt  were  interested.  There  were  arguments  in  favor 
of  selecting  this  land,  of  course,  and  the  commissioners 
undoubtedly  knew  more  about  it  than  he  did. 

All  this  Heffler  explained  indifferently,  in  jerky,  unfin- 
ished sentences,  and  then  he  lapsed  into  his  usual  dull 
silence.  He  had  lost  his  interest  when  he  had  finished 
his  personal  story.     Perhaps  he  was  half  sorry  that  he 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  117 

had  talked  so  freely.     He  had  become  so  accustomed  to 
distrust  and  ridicule  that  he  expected  it. 

It  was  late  when  they  walked  up  Main  Street,  their 
footsteps  echoing  along  the  silent  thoroughfare.  The 
stores  were  dark  and  the  crowds  had  vanished.  But  the 
lights  in  Mr.  Tubb's  gaudy  ark  of  a  night  lunch  wagon 
were  still  burning,  and  Gilbert  directed  Joe  Heffler,  who 
seemed  to  hang  back  reluctantly,  to  the  narrow  steps  of 
the  cart.  Mr.  Lumpkin,  protected  by  a  huge  white  apron, 
many  sizes  too  large  for  him,  which  had  belonged  to  his 
predecessor  in  the  glories  of  the  lunch-counter,  was  wash- 
ing dishes  and  singing  lustily  a  song  which  may  or  may 
not  have  been  suggested  by  his  occupation: 

"  It's  suited  me,  this  life  at  sea, 
For  nigh  on  twenty " 

"Come  in,  boys!  Howdy,  Mr.  Gilbert,  and  you,  Joe. 
Well,  well!  The  Scriptures  say  that  'the  lion  an'  the 
lamb  shall  eat  together,'  or  words  to  that  effect.  Been  to 
the  bazaar,  I  presume.  What '11  you  have?  Oh,  come, 
Joe,  you'd  better  have  something." 

But  Heffler  shook  his  head  doggedly. 

"Ain't  hungry." 

"Your  looks  belie  you,  as  the  Scripture  says,  or  some- 
thing to  that  effect."  Mr.  Peter  Lumpkin  leaned  upon 
the  counter  and  glared  jovially  at  the  obviously  em- 
barrassed Heffler.  "Come,  now,  what'll  it  be,  ham, 
chicken,  tongue,  all  the  fifty-seven  varieties?  It's  his 
treat."    Mr.  Lumpkin  jerked  his  thumb  at  Gilbert. 

"Of  course  it's  my  treat." 

"There,  what'd  I  tell  you.     What'll  it  be,  Joe,  coffee. 


118  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

tea,  cocoa,  ginger  pop — everything  that's  good  to  drink — 
adapted,  Mr.  Gilbert,  as  you  will  observe,  from  our  worthy 
rival  Butterson's  well-known  advertisement/' 

Heffler,  driven  figuratively  into  a  corner,  looked  appeal- 
ingly  up  at  Gilbert. 

"I'm  broke,  that's  all,  if  I've  got  to  say  it,"  he  said 
simply.  "  I  bought  that  bazaar  ticket  with  pretty  nearly 
my  last  money  because  somebody  asked  me,  somebody  I 
couldn't  refuse.     I  owe  Peter  here  half  a  dollar " 

"A  falsehood,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  broke  in  Mr.  Lumpkin  with 
a  thump  on  the  counter  that  rattled  the  dishes.  *'A 
gross,  willful,  and  wicked  falsehood.  Our  friend  here  has 
joined  me  in  certain  comforting  libations;  he  has  helped 
me  to  consume  delectable  eatables  which  otherwise  were 
destined  for  canine  jaws,  but  always  at  my  request,  sir, 
always  at  my  request." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  persevered  Mr.  Heffler,  "I  don't  in- 
tend to  run  in  debt.  I'll  starve  first.  And  I  don't  want 
to  be  under  obligations  to  you,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"All  right,"  said  Gilbert,  "I'll  deduct  it  from  your  first 
week's  pay." 

"My  what?"     Heffler  stared  at  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"Your  first  week's  pay  at  the  shop.  You're  going  to 
begin  there  Monday,  you  know." 

Heffler  looked  quickly  from  Gilbert  to  Mr.  Lumpkin 
and  back.  He  ran  his  hand  nervously  through  his  thick 
gray  hair.  He  took  a  long  breath  and  sat  down  weakly 
on  one  of  the  revolving  stools. 

"D'ye  mean  to  say  that  you're  going  to  trust  me?"  he 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "You,  you  aren't  playing  a 
game  on  me?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  119 


**0f  course  I  trust  you.     Of  course  I'm  not- 


But,  before  Gilbert  could  finish,  Joe  Hefiler  astounded 
them  by  burying  his  head  in  his  arms  on  the  counter,  with 
imminent  danger  to  a  plate  of  ham  sandwiches,  and  sob- 
bing like  a  child.  Mr.  Lumpkin,  after  carefully  rescuing 
the  sandwiches,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Joe's  mighty  precipitate,"  he  remarked  confiden- 
tially. "But  you've  done  a  good  thing,  Mr.  Gilbert. 
I've  often  said  to  myself:  *  Peter  Lumpkin,'  says  I,  'that 
Mr.  Gilbert  is  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide.  He  may  not  be 
very  handsome,'  I  says,  begging  your  pardon,  of  course, 
*but  handsome  is  as  handsome  does,'  as  the  Scripture 
says,  or  words  to  that  effect.  Now,  I  know  Joe.  He's 
slept  in  this  emporium  of  food  and  frivolity  for  the  last 
week,  chiefly  because  Mr.  Tubb  didn't  know  anything 
about  it  but  mainly  because  he  hadn't  anywhere  else  to 
sleep.  And  I  tell  you  he's  as  tender  hearted  and  as  well 
meaning  an  individual  as  ever  helped  to  populate  the 
Almighty's  footstool.  You've  done  a  good  thing,  and 
you'll  never  have  a  jot  or  tittle  of  regret.  I  admire 
you,  sir,  and  if  you  ever  want  your  shoes  blacked,  Mr. 
Peter  Lumpkin  stands  ready  to  shine  them,  sir,  with  the 
President's  shoe  blacking." 

Mr.  Lumpkin  finished  his  peroration  with  a  gesture 
which  brought  his  hand  in  contact  with  the  coffee  boiler, 
and,  since  that  receptacle  was  hot,  Peter  added  a  few 
words  that  seemed,  to  say  the  least,  incongruous. 

"  All  right,  Lumpkin,"  laughed  Gilbert.  "  Let  me  have 
some  coffee." 

They  had  coffee  all  'round,  and  sandwiches.  Heffler  ate 
four  silently  and  followed  them  with  apple  pie.     While 


120  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

they  were  eating  the  door  slid  back  and  let  in  Jimmy 
O'Rourke,  who  immediately  filled  in  at  the  only  vacant 
seat  left  at  the  counter.  Then  Mr.  Lumpkin  brought 
forth  a  box  of  cigars,  made  of  "good  patriotic  Connecticut 
tobacco,"  declaring  that  they  at  least  were  his  treat;  and 
soon  the  four  were  puffing  away  contentedly  and  discuss- 
ing topics  along  the  line  of  least  resistance  to  Mr.  Lump- 
kin's eloquence.  Occasionally  Peter  would  defer  some 
points  to  Gilbert's  judgment  and  occasionally  Jimmy 
O'Rourke  broke  in  with  quotations  from  newspapers  or 
various  local  authorities.  Heffler  sat  quiet,  his  eyes 
almost  constantly  on  Gilbert. 

"Say,"  remarked  Jimmy  in  a  pause,  while  Mr.  Lumpkin 
was  regaining  his  breath.  Jimmy  had  a  way  of  finding 
every  trivial  situation  of  which  he  was  a  part,  like  some- 
thing, much  more  important,  that  he  had  read  about  or 
heard  about.  "Dis  makes  ye  tink  av  de  President  an' 
his  cabinet,  an'  de  way  dey  talks  things  over.  De  Secrety 
av  Agriculture,  he  don't  have  much  to  say — dat's  Heff- 
ler. De  Secrety  of  War — dat's  me  all  right,"  Jimmy 
doubled  up  his  fists  and  grinned.  "An'  Peter  sure  is 
Secrety  of  de  Interior." 

Gilbert  waited  a  moment,  smiling. 

"And  where  do  I  come  in,  Jimmy?" 

"Say,  ye  want  me  to  say  it,  don't  ye?  Well,  you're 
de  main  guy." 

The  bell  of  the  town  clock  in  the  Municipal  building 
tolled  twelve,  and  Mr.  Lumpkin  prepared  to  close  the 
wagon.  Mr.  Tubb's  scruples  would  not  permit  him  to  make 
money  on  Sunday,  even  in  a  lunch  cart  in  the  early  morn- 
ing.    Outside  Joe  Heffler  put  his  hand  on  Gilbert's  arm. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  121 


"I'll  do  my  best  to- 


"  Sure,"  said  Gilbert  heartily.  But  Heffler  refused  the 
loan  Jack  tried  to  force  upon  him. 

"I'd  rather  not,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said. 

Jimmy  O'Rourke  went  off  whistling  down  the  street. 
He  had  probably  forgotten  entirely  his  comparison  of  the 
group  in  the  lunch  wagon  to  a  cabinet.  He  certainly  had 
no  notion  that  it  was  prophetic.  As  for  Gilbert,  he  spent 
all  Sunday  afternoon  tramping  about  Hampstead  reser- 
voir, but  if  he  came  to  any  conclusion  he  said  nothing 
about  it  to  anyone.  In  fact  Mrs.  Gilbert  complained  that 
night  with  some  raillery  that  he  was  unusually  uncom- 
municative. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY 


FOR  three  or  four  days  it  rained  almost  continu- 
ously, and  the  ''Glorious  Fourth"  dawned,  drip- 
ping and  disheartening.  Of  course  all  Hamp- 
stead  arose  early,  and  of  course  its  youthful  patriots 
managed  to  express  their  enthusiasm  "between  drops," 
and  of  course  everyone  remarked,  with  various  degrees  of 
resignation,  that  it  "always  rained  on  Fourth  of  July," 
and  of  course  nobody  wasted  any  time  thinking  about  the 
significance  of  the  day  or  about  the  men  of  1776  who,  by 
their  act,  created  a  nation  as  well  as  a  holiday.  Few  peo- 
ple in  Hampstead  bothered  their  minds  about  the  signifi- 
cance of  anything.  They  were  too  busy,  and  a  holiday 
was  a  holiday. 

After  a  dull,  leaden  afternoon  and  twilight,  night  shut 
in  black  and  menacing  and  growling  with  far-off  thunder. 
Lightning  soon  began  to  streak  across  the  shroud  that 
hung  over  the  Hampstead  hills,  and  the  thunder  grew 
harsh  and  rapid,  as  if  the  elements  realized  that  they  had 
spoiled  the  town's  celebration  and  were  trying  to  replace 
it  by  a  display  of  their  own.  Then  suddenly  the  down- 
pour began,  straight  and  steady  even  in  the  whirl  of  the 
rushing  wind  that  tore  through  the  thick  foliage  of  the 

122 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  123 

trees.  But  the  closeness  and  the  heat  of  the  day  persisted 
and  seemed  even  to  increase. 

On  the  side  of  West  Hill,  which  stood  forth  defiantly 
against  the  full  force  of  the  storm,  and  down  the  streets 
of  which  the  water  streamed  in  miniature  rivers,  the 
Hardy  house,  with  its  high  tower,  loomed  up  into  the 
desolate  night  like  a  beacon.  Within  there  was  the  stir 
of  preparation,  and  the  maids  tiptoed  here  and  there  and 
gave  and  took  orders  quietly,  hushed  by  the  sense  of 
something  impending,  as  if  someone  was  ill  upstairs. 

Clare  Hardy,  all  in  black,  except  for  flashes  of  red  at  her 
throat,  at  her  waist  and  at  the  ends  of  her  sleeves,  knocked 
at  the  door  of  her  mother's  room,  sometime  after  eight. 
Mrs.  Hardy  responded  plaintively.  She  stood  with  her 
back  turned  to  the  door. 

"I've  done  it,"  she  said,  punctuating  the  words  with 
jerky  little  sobs. 

'*  Done  what?  "     Miss  Hardy  hurried  to  her  solicitously. 

"I've  wept,  my  child,"  moaned  her  mother.  "That 
means  that  I  simply  can't  see  anyone  for  half  an  hour. 
You  know  how  terribly  crying  makes  one  look.  And  if 
anyone  should  notice— it's  so  vulgar,  you  know,  to  show 
one's  feelings." 

"But  what's  the  matter?"  Clare  Hardy  dared  to  lay 
her  hand  on  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"Don't  be  sympathetic,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hardy,  sud- 
den sternness  stopping  her  tears.  "  It's  bad  for  one's 
repose.  I  wanted  this  to  be  so  successful.  It's  out  of 
season  and  we  might  be  criticised.  And  now  there  is  this 
wicked  rain.  I'm  afraid  the  Bassett  girls  won't  come, 
and  I  did  wish  them  to  see  my  new  vases.     And  your 


124  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

father,  my  dear,  something  is  wrong  with  him.  He  was 
very  harsh  to-night." 

As  Miss  Hardy  went  slowly  down  the  stairs,  she  could 
hear  her  father  stamping  up  and  down  his  room  with 
heavy  step.  She  leaned  against  the  balustrade  wearily, 
and  for  a  second  she  felt  utterly  discouraged,  as  if  the  sup- 
ports had  been  suddenly  jerked  out  from  under  her  heart. 
Then  the  bell  rang,  and  pressing  her  lips  tightly  together, 
she  tried  to  make  them  smile  as  she  hurried  down  to  greet 
the  first  comers.  When  the  door  opened  John  Gilbert 
alone  strode  past  the  maid,  and,  seeing  Miss  Hardy  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  he  crossed  the  hall,  straight  to  her. 

*^Miss  Hardy,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  big  hand  with 
an  awkward  shyness,  "I — I'm  not  late,  am  I?" 

Clare  Hardy  laughed  nervously. 

"Oh,  no,  you're  just  in  time." 

"I  didn't  want  to  be  too  early."  He  was  evidently 
relieved  until  he  looked  about  him.  He  saw  the  maid 
smiling  as  she  passed  him.     "  I'm  not  too  early,  am  I?  " 

Miss  Hardy  saw  the  red  flush  mount  in  his  cheeks,  and 
she  was  sorry  for  him. 

"The  others  are  late." 

Gilbert  looked  at  her  ruefully.     Then  he  smiled. 

"You're  trying  to  let  me  down  easy.  After  all  there 
are  good  things  about  being  first." 

His  smile  was  contagious. 

"That's  a  very  nice  speech,  Mr.  Gilbert.' 

"  Nice  speech?  "  Gilbert  was  puzzled.  "  I  didn't  mean 
any  nice  speech.  Oh,  I  see.  You  thought  I  meant  be- 
cause you  are  here.  I  might  have.  But  I  didn't.  I 
was  speaking  generally." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  125 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  embarrassed. 

"If  you're  always  as  honest  as  that  I'm  afraid  the  girls 
won't  like  you." 

Gilbert  took  a  step  forward  and  his  eyes,  although  they 
smiled  down  at  her,  were  very  searching. 

''Won't  you?'' 

"I— don't  know." 

There  was  a  hint  of  defiance  as  well  as  of  coquetry  in 
her  tone.  What  right  had  he  to  ask  such  a  question,  and 
what  right  had  he  to  look  at  her  as  if  he  owned  her? 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  he  said  gravely,  and  he  left  her  to 
put  aside  his  rain-coat  and  hat. 

During  the  next  half  hour  bedraggled  horses,  hoof  deep 
in  water,  dragged  dripping  carriages  to  the  door;  and  men 
and  women  in  brave  array,  many  of  whom  had  mourned 
deeply  the  necessity  of  coming  in  such  a  storm,  paraded 
in  with  protestations  of  delight.  John  Gilbert,  watching 
them,  felt  doubly  awkward  as  he  saw  that  the  men  were 
all  in  evening  clothes — evening  clothes  of  great  variety, 
without  doubt,  for  it  literally  takes  decades  for  Hamp- 
stead  to  wear  them  out.  There  were  some  that  clung  as 
tightly  as  paper  to  a  wall;  there  were  collars  that  crowded 
up  about  the  ears;  and  there  were  sleeves  that  kept  their 
wearers  busy,  all  the  evening,  jogging  their  cuffs  upward 
by  a  carefully  concealed  wrist  exercise.  But  after  all 
they  were  evening  clothes  and  therefore  the  badge  of 
propriety,  and  Gilbert's  natural  isolation  was  made  almost 
unbearable  by  this  continuous  succession  of  swallow  tails. 
There  is  many  a  hero  among  men  who  is  more  or  less  of  a 
coward  in  the  face  of  clothes. 

It  was  a  simple  affair,  this  Fourth  of  July  party,  and  its 


126  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

very  simplicity  made  it  a  novelty.  There  was  no  set  pro- 
gram of  things  to  do.  Hampstead  usually  thought  out 
its  social  matters  as  it  thought  out  its  business,  and  it 
made  its  functions  as  formal  as  old-fashioned  business 
correspondence.  It  was  not  that  its  people  preferred  to 
be  stiff  and  uncomfortable.  Not  at  all.  They  were 
merely  afraid  of  doing  something  that  might  be  consid- 
ered improper.  And  it  was  for  the  same  reason  that 
they  seldom  applauded  at  theater  or  concert,  and  so  gave 
the  town  a  reputation  of  being  "cold."  As  a  matter  of 
fact  there  is  not  a  warmer-hearted  community  in  the 
world,  when  they  are  certain  that  it  is  proper  to  seem 
warm-hearted.  But  Miss  Hardy  turned  the  house  that 
night  into  "Liberty  Hall,"  and  assured  them  that,  since 
it  was  Independence  Day,  they  should  do  as  they  pleased. 
Of  course  half  of  them  did  and  half  of  them  did  not,  as  is 
usually  the  custom  where  the  sexes  are  equally  divided; 
but  they  all  enjoyed  it  immensely. 

They  danced  in  the  music-room  and  down  the  hall; 
they  played  cards  in  the  library;  they  made  speeches  and 
sang  songs;  they  helped  themselves  from  the  dining- 
room  table,  crowded  with  good  things,  between  times; 
the  men  smoked  in  the  little  reception-room;  couples 
retired  to  the  cozy  comer  or  a  window  seat  and  pretended 
to  watch  the  others;  and  even  the  servants  used  the  crack 
in  the  door  of  the  butler's  pantry  more  freely  than  usual. 
Altogether  it  was  a  great  success.  The  Misses  Bassett 
rejoiced  Mrs.  Hardy's  heart  by  going  into  raptures  over 
the  new  vases,  although,  behind  her  back,  they  told  each 
other  that  the  things  were  undoubtedly  imitation.  And 
Mr.  Hardy  enjoyed  the  impromptu  smoking-room. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  127 

Billy  McNish  had  assured  Miss  Hardy  that  if  he  was  to 
do  as  he  liked  he  would,  of  course,  remain  at  her  side 
throughout  the  evening,  and  they  spent  an  hour  or  more 
trying  to  help  the  people  to  be  independent  who  were 
floundering  aimlessly  about  because  no  one  had  built  a 
groove  for  them  to  run  in.  But  the  time  came  when  the 
girl  chose  a  seat  on  the  secluded  stairs,  and  told  Mr. 
McNish  that  from  that  moment  she  was  going  to  do  as 
she  pleased — which  meant,  of  course,  that  he  was  to  do 
as  she  pleased.  She  commanded  him  to  search  for  other 
sources  of  attraction  for  himself.  Incidentally  he  was  to 
find  John  Gilbert  and  to  direct  him  in  some  surreptitious 
way  down  the  hall  and  past  the  stairway.  Billy  himself, 
she  explained  guilelessly,  had  urged  her  to  know  Mr. 
Gilbert  better.  More  than  this,  Mr.  Gilbert  was  probably 
having  a  very  dull  evening — since  there  were  few  people 
there  whom  he  knew  intimately, — and  it  was  her  duty  as 
a  hostess  to  be  pleasant  to  him.  And  Billy,  after  some 
delay  and  clearly  out  of  pity  for  his  friend,  did  as  he  was 
told. 

When  he  had  gone  Miss  Hardy,  with  two  or  three  deft 
touches,  straightened  some  imruly  crinkles  in  her  skirt 
and  sighed  for  a  looking-glass.  Then  she  leaned  back 
against  the  balustrade  in  absolute  abandon,  with  her  left 
arm  hanging  loosely  along  the  rail,  and  hummed  the  little 
lilt  of  a  French  song  just  loudly  enough  to  attract  the 
attention  of  anyone  passing  by,  who  had  any  curiosity. 
She  was  certain  that  John  Gilbert  had  at  least  enough 
curiosity  for  that.  A  moment  later  he  turned  as  he 
crossed  below  her,  and  saw  the  figure,  almost  elf-like  as  it 
huddled  on  the  stairway,  the  mischievous  black  eyes  and 


128  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

the  tantalizing  smile  about  half-closed  lips.  He  stood 
for  a  second  as  if  undecided,  and  the  song  broke  off. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  she  asked. 

He  responded  with  a  naive  shyness  which,  it  seemed  to 
her,  made  his  awkwardness  singularly  graceful.  He  sat 
down  opposite  her  on  the  stair  below,  with  his  hands 
clasped  over  one  knee  and  with  the  other  long  leg  sprawled 
at  full  length.  He  looked  across  at  her,  his  irregular 
features  distorted  into  a  frank  smile. 

"This  is  mighty  good  of  you,"  he  said  simply. 

Subterfuge  and  generalship  suddenly  vanished  from 
Clare  Hardy's  mind. 

"Nonsense.  I  asked  Billy  to  send  you  this  way.  I 
wanted  to  know  you  better." 

"And  I  want  to  know  you,"  he  answered  with  boyish 
eagerness.  "Do  you  know.  Miss  Hardy,  this  is  the  first 
bit  of  frankness  I've  met  to-night." 

"Of  course,"  she  said  with  sudden  cynicism.  "Most 
people  are  so  commonplace  that  they're  deadly  dull  even 
when  they  are  insincere.  What  would  they  be  if  they 
told  the  truth?    How  have  you  been  celebrating  to-day?  " 

"Fussing  with  a  lot  of  machines  at  the  shop."  He 
grinned  good-humoredly  over  his  holiday. 

Miss  Hardy's  eyebrows  wrinkled  slightly. 

"Isn't  that  a  mistake?" 

"  You  mean  that  it  seems  selfish  to  keep  working  all  the 
time.  Perhaps;  but  there  are  a  lot  of  men  I  know,  who 
are  really  unselfish,  but  who  have  to  live  selfish  lives." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant  that  it's  a  mistake 
to  give  up  everything  else,  the  finer  things,  you  know, 
books  and  pictures  and  people." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  129 

Gilbert  nodded  gravely. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  ''it's  a  mistake.  It's  a  mistake  for  me 
to  be  built  like  a  derrick,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It's  a  mis- 
take to  want  food  and  a  place  to  sleep.  It's  a  mistake  to 
be  poor.  Sometimes,  when  I'm  tired,  that  seems  to  me 
the  biggest  mistake  of  all.  But  it  isn't.  There  are  lots 
of  worse  things." 

"I  don't  think  I  should  mind  being  poor,"  said  Miss 
Hardy  dreamily. 

"  Being  poor  is  all  right  if  you  can  forget  it." 

"Of  course,  you  never  get  discouraged,  you  men  who 
have  things  to  do,  things  that  make  you  forget." 

"Don't  I?  Why,  some  nights,  I  come  home  feeling 
like  a  limp  dishrag  inside." 

"Inside  but  not  outside,"  she  suggested. 

"Well,  'outside'  wouldn't  do.  Somebody  might  take 
you  at  your  face  value,  and  wipe  dishes  with  you." 

Clare  Hardy  laughed. 

"  Tell  me  about  that  man  you  hired  who  was  a  thief.  I 
think  Dad  didn't  altogether  like  it.  What  made  you  do 
it?" 

"  It  was  sheer  impulse.  Miss  Hardy.  Perhaps  a  grown 
man  wouldn't  've  done  it."  He  smiled  over  at  her  boy- 
ishly. Then  he  told  her  Heflaer's  story,  mentioning  him- 
self only  when  it  was  necessary  to  show  HeflSer's  sensi- 
tiveness about  obligations.  When  he  told  her  of  the 
man's  emotion  at  being  trusted  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  she  stopped  him  suddenly. 

"Do  you  believe  in  being  impulsive?"  she  asked. 

"Sometimes;  why?" 

"  Because  I  impulsively  want  to  shake  hands  with  you."' 


130  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

He  caught  her  hand  eagerly,  but  with  a  gentle  reverence 
that  made  something  in  her  heart  catch  and  stop  for  a 
second  before  going  on. 

"This  is  your  impulse  shaking  hands  with  my  impulse," 
he  explained  beamingly.  "For  if  I'd  allowed  myself  to 
reason  about  it  I  probably  shouldn't  have  done  it.'^ 

"Of  course  you  won't  give  him  a  chance  to  steal 
again?"  Miss  Hardy,  her  face  sUghtly  flushed,  was  look- 
ing down  into  the  hall.  She  wondered  if  anyone  had  seen 
them. 

"  He  is  handling  a  good  deal  of  money.  He^s  assisting 
the  paymaster." 

She  turned  to  him  quickly. 

"  Really?    Isn't  that  risky? " 

"I  told  him  I  trusted  him,  didn't  I?  I'd  be  a  slushy 
sort  of  a  man  if  I  told  him  that  and  then  didn't  trust  him. 
Of  course,  there  are  the  usual  checks  on  him,  but  that's 
all.  He's  all  right,  Joe  Heffler  is,  and  he's  going  to  have 
a  chance  to  prove  it  to  everybody." 

Gilbert  brought  a  doubled  fist  down  hard  upon  his 
knee,  and  looked  across  at  the  girl  so  fiercely  that  she 
laughed  and  he  laughed  with  her. 

"I  suppose  that's  the  reason  the  men  like  you,  because 
you're  so  honest." 

"That's  the  reason  why  I  Hke  the  men,"  he  answered 
quickly,  "because  they're  'on  the  level'  with  me." 

Miss  Hardy  stared  thoughtfully  past  him  for  a  moment. 

"It's  a  real  man's  work  in  the  world,"  she  said  slowly. 
"It's  fine  to  do  things." 

"The  only  trouble  is  you  only  want  to  do  other  things 
— bigger  things." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  131 

"I've  always  said/'  nodded  Miss  Hardy  recklessly, 
"  that  when  my  ship  came  in  I  was  going  to  find  the  best 
man  in  the  world,  and  we'd  buy  a  house  in  Venice.  There 
shouldn't  be  anything  in  that  house  I  didn't  like,  and 
we'd  live  there  three  months  in  a  year  and  travel  the 
other  nine.  And  when  we  were  tired  of  that  we'd  do 
something  else.  But  the  ship  isn't  even  in  sight,  and  I 
mope  around  here  doing  nothing,  calling  on  people  who 
don't  want  to  see  me  and  receiving  people  I  don't  want 
to  see." 

She  flushed  under  the  quizzical  look  of  his  eyes. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  it's  tommyrot,  and  so  do  you." 

"It's  me,"  she  insisted. 

"It  isn't  any  more  you  than  a  whirling  dervish  is  an 
angel." 

There  were  sounds  of  stamping  feet  on  the  porch  and 
the  bell  rang  vigorously.  Miss  Hardy,  thankful  for  the 
interruption,  started  up  with  quick  energy  and  stumbled 
over  Gilbert's  foot.  Undoubtedly  she  would  have  fallen 
if  he  had  not  caught  her  arm  firmly. 

"I  always  stumble  at  nothing,"  she  cried  petulantly,  as 
she  regained  her  balance. 

"Thank  you,"  was  the  smiling  answer.  Their  eyes  met 
and  Miss  Hardy's  embarrassment  vanished  into  good 
humor.  She  hurried  down  to  the  door,  and  a  second  later 
she  beckoned  to  Gilbert.  He  noticed  her  perplexed  look 
as  he  passed  her.  And  the  look  grew  more  perplexed 
when,  instead  of  stopping  at  the  door,  he  went  outside 
with  a  muffled  exclamation  and  almost  closed  it  behind 
him.     She  picked  up  a  book  from  the  hall  table  and 


132  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

opened  it,  but  she  listened  to  the  sounds  of  subdued  con- 
versation outside.  When  Gilbert  returned  she  dropped 
the  book  and  met  him  inquiringly. 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  she  asked.  She  saw  that  his 
face  was  set  and  frowning.  There  was  a  woman's  tender 
anxiety  in  her  eyes  that  gripped  Gilbert's  heart  strangely 
as  he  looked  down  into  them. 

"Oh,  no,  but  I  want  to  see  your  father,  and  then  I'm 
afraid  I'll  have  to  go." 

Reproach  replaced  anxiety  in  her  look  as  she  turned 
away.  She  found  Mr.  Hardy  quickly,  but  when  they 
reached  the  hallway  Gilbert  was  already  pacing  the  floor 
anxiously,  his  rain-coat  and  overshoes  on  and  his  slouch 
hat  in  his  hand. 

"I'm  sorry  I've  got  to  go,  Mr.  Hardy,"  he  said.  Then 
he  hesitated  as  he  glanced  from  father  to  daughter  and 
back  again.  "Is  there  any  directors'  meeting  to-mor- 
row?" he  asked. 

Hardy  shook  his  head.  "Not  till  September,"  he  said. 
The  wind  slammed  a  shutter  in  the  next  room  and  he 
started  violently.  He  looked  very  old  and  haggard  to 
Gilbert  that  night.  His  eyes  had  a  kind  of  nervous, 
hunted  look,  and  the  wrinkles  about  them  seemed  deeper 
than  usual.  Gilbert  felt  the  impulse  strongly  to  tell  "the 
old  man"  why  he  was  leaving,  but  he  remembered  the 
vigorous  command  he  had  been  given  about  not  talking 
of  "things  that  weren't  any  of  his  business."  So  he  said 
good-night  with  awkward  gratitude,  and  hurried  out  just 
as  Mrs.  Hardy  and  Billy  McNish  came  in  from  the  library. 

"Mr.  Gilbert  had  to  go  early,  mother,"  said  the  girl, 
slipping  her  hand  in  Mrs.  Hardy's  arm.    "He  asked  me 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  133 

to  say  good-night  to  you  for  him/'  she  added  unhesita- 
tingly, although  Gilbert  in  his  hurry  had  forgotten  to  say 
anything  of  the  sort.     Mr.  Hardy  turned  to  Billy  McNish. 

"I  didn't  know  Jack  went  in  much  for  politics,"  he 
remarked. 

'*  I  don't  think  he  does."    Billy  spoke  indifferently. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Hardy  wearily,  as  he  started  up  the 
stairs,  "for  a  man  can't  be  my  superintendent  and  Mayor 
at  the  same  time,  and  I'd  hate  to  lose  him." 

Billy's  attitude  changed  amazingly  to  one  of  acute 
interest,  and  Miss  Hardy  stopped  at  the  music-room  door. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Billy. 

"I  hear  that  Moriarty  and  some  of  the  rest  have  been 
sounding  men  at  the  shops  about  it,  that's  all." 

The  old  man  laboriously  continued  on  his  way  up  the 
stairs.  He  was  tired  of  the  confusion  and  the  noise  and 
the  merriment.  He  wanted  to  think  and  smoke.  He  had 
been  worried  all  day  about  those  notes  he  had  sold  in 
New  York,  In  a  week  or  two  they  would  come  due. 
Large  orders  he  had  been  confident  of  taking  had  gone  to 
the  Westbury  concern.  Small,  imexpected  repairs  had 
eaten  in  on  the  money  he  had  laid  aside.  Business  was 
slacking  up  for  the  usual  summer's  dullness  with  its  high 
expenses  and  its  small  income.  And  there  were  these 
rumors  about  large  purchases  of  Hardy  stock,  rumors 
that  were  all  the  more  worrisome  because  of  their  mystery 
and  uncertainty.  Of  course,  he  did  not  take  them  very 
seriously.  Brett  and  Merrivale  had  always  been  friendly 
to  him.  He  had  elected  the  Mayor  a  director  in  return 
for  a  small  "ground  floor"  allotment  in  the  Street  Railway 
Company,  and  Merrivale  had  "let  him  in  on"  some  real- 


134  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

estate  deals  in  exchange  for  a  Hardy  directorship.  Un- 
doubtedly it  was  all  right.  But  to-night  all  these  things 
were  crowding  in  upon  him.  They  irritated  him,  and  he 
shook  his  head,  bulldog  like,  as  if  to  drive  them  away. 
But  they  did  not  frighten  him.  Never  for  a  moment  did 
he  doubt  that,  with  his  shops,  he  would  beat  them  all 
back  as  he  had  other  opposition  in  other  days. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  guests  began  to  go. 
Carriages  again  rumbled  outside  in  the  steady  rain  that 
had  followed  the  thunderstorm;  doors  slammed,  echoing 
noisily  in  the  deserted  street;  and  the  stereotyped  good- 
night phrases  were  said,  phrases  for  all  the  world  like  the 
phrases  with  which  the  French  close  their  letters,  to  the 
patronizing  amusement  of  our  superior  American  mind. 
At  last  Billy  McNish  alone  remained,  at  Miss  Hardy's 
unspoken  request. 

"I'm  not  a  bit  sleepy  or  tired,"  she  said.  "I'd  like  to 
run  a  mile  or  two,  or  play  tennis,  or  dance  another  hour. 
Let's  go  out  and  get  wet." 

.  She  returned  a  moment  later,  wrapped  in  her  father's 
gray  mackintosh,  which  hung  in  folds  about  her,  and  with 
an  old  cap  perched  at  a  rakish  angle  on  the  side  of  her 
head. 

"No  umbrella,"  she  commanded,  the  witchery  of  her 
smile  just  showing  itself  to  Billy  above  the  tumed-up 
collar  of  the  mackintosh.  She  made  him  secrete  in  his 
pockets  a  few  huge,  left-over  firecrackers,  and  then  she 
led  him  out  into  the  night.  Once  off  the  steps  she  darted 
away  from  him,  and,  when  he  caught  her  at  the  gate,  she 
laughed  till  she  cried  because  he  slipped  and  went  down 
upon  his  knee  in  a  puddle.    She  suggested  stealing  some 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  135 

flowers  from  the  McNish  garden,  and  then  gave  it  up 
because  he  told  her  to  help  herself.  She  rated  him  for 
being  sober  and  solemn,  and,  to  please  her,  of  course,  he 
assumed  a  priestly  air  and  sang  mock  Gregorians  until 
she  begged  him  to  stop.  They  held  a  council  of  war,  and 
decided  unanimously  that  the  firecrackers  would  create 
more  amusing  havoc  under  crusty  Mr.  Butterson's  win- 
dow than  elsewhere.  And  so  they  crossed  the  street, 
whispering  and  giggling  like  two  small  children,  to  the 
gaunt  white  frame  house  in  which  Mr.  Butterson  lived 
and,  at  the  moment,  slept. 

It  had  taken  Colonel  Mead  nearly  two  hours  to  decide 
to  see  Jack  that  night.  According  to  his  custom  he  had 
tramped  down  to  the  post-ofiice  just  as  the  storm  was 
beginning.  Nothing  ever  stopped  the  Colonel  from  car- 
rying out  the  regular  routine  of  his  simple  life,  and  getting 
the  mail  at  night  was  as  necessary  to  him  now  as  roll- 
call  had  been  years  before.  When  he  had  read  his  letters 
at  home  he  sat  down  without  taking  off  the  long  rubber 
boots  which  he  wore  in  spite  of  conventions,  and  he 
fingered  thoughtfully  the  little  enclosure,  signed  by  Robert 
Brett,  that  called  him  to  a  special  meeting  of  the  board  of 
directors  of  Hardy  &  Son  the  next  morning  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Then  he  threw  it  into  the  waste-basket  and 
picked  up  a  book,  but  he  forgot  to  take  off  his  boots. 
After  a  time  he  put  the  book  down  and  rescued  the  paper 
from  the  basket.  Then  he  repeated  the  entire  operation 
and  finally,  swearing  under  his  breath,  he  stamped  out 
into  the  night  and  up  the  street  to  Gilbert's  house.  When 
he  found  that  Gilbert  was  at  Mr.  Hardy's  he  hesitated 


136  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

again,  and  argued  that  Jack's  absence  was  providence  tell- 
ing him  to  let  the  thing  alone;  but  nevertheless  his  rheu- 
matic legs  seemed  to  carry  him  naturally  to  the  Hardy 
house. 

"If  the  old  man  knew  anything  about  the  meeting  he'd 
\e  signed  the  call  himself,"  Gilbert  said,  as  they  talked  on 
the  porch.  "  He  likes  to  sign  everything.  Something's  in 
the  wind,  something,  perhaps,  to  get  him  out  of  the  way. 
More  Ukely  it's  something  to  get  the  directors  down  on 
him,  so  that  the  other  crowd  can  get  control  in  the  Fall." 

"  I  ain't  much  on  the  ways  o'  doin'  civilized  business," 
interrupted  the  Colonel.  "D'ye  mean  they're  goin'  to 
hang  the  old  man  up  now,  thinkin'  mebbe  he'll  be  dead 
enough  to  cut  down  by  September?" 

"Something  like  that."  Gilbert  was  thinking  rapidly. 
"  Perhaps  it's  a  scheme  to  make  the  stock  cheap.  Lord, 
it  might  be  anything.  Only  one  thing  dead  sure  and  that 
is,  it's  a  snap  meeting.  It's  up  to  us  to  see  that  every 
director  is  there.     That's  what  they  won't  expect." 

"Up  to  us?"  flared  the  Colonel.  "I  ain't  heard  thet 
Hardy's  sent  out  fer  any  relief  party.  Let  him  do  his 
own  fightin'.  Ye  kin  probly  git  more  rations  from  the 
other  side  anyhow." 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  and  turned  to  go  in. 

"  I'll  find  out  whether  the  old  man  knows  about  it,"  he 
said. 

"I'll  git  the  horse,"  returned  the  Colonel,  tacking 
quickly  before  Gilbert's  decision.  "We'll  hev  to  go  to 
Tareville  an'  it  ain't  good  walkin'." 

"Oh,  I'll  get  along  all  right.  Colonel.  It's  too  nasty  a 
night  for  you  to  be  out.    You  ought  to  be  in  bed  now." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  137 


"Too  nasty  a  night?"  the  Colonel  grunted  angrily. 
"Ought  to  be  in  bed,  hed  I?  Thet's  what  the  doctor  sed 
to  me  down  in  New  Erleens.  I  certainly  wuz  totterin' 
around  like  a  sick  steer  and  ez  white  ez  I  wuz  when  I 
struck  gold.  'Ye've  got  Yella  Jack/  he  says.  'Ye're  a 
liar/  sez  I,  an'  I  goes  over  to  a  saloon,  and  the  bartender 
is  so  scared  of  me  that  he's  going  to  hev  me  pitched  out — 
only  he  doesn't,  seein'  I  git  the  drop  on  him.  I  drinks  a 
whole  quart  of  whiskey  raw,  and  goes  to  bed  with  my 
shoes  on.  There  isn't  any  undertaker  a  workin'  over  me 
the  next  mornin',  tho'  I'll  allow  so  much  bad  whiskey 
leaves  me  high  an'  dry  an'  gaspin'.  Now  you  git  yer 
feet  movin'  or  I'll  be  here  'fore  ye're  ready,"  and  the 
grizzled  old  man  stamped  off  down  the  steps. 

When  he  drove  up,  some  fifteen  minutes  later,  he  found 
Gilbert  waiting  for  him,  and  together  they  went  in  to  see 
Mr.  McNish.  They  had  scarcely  stated  their  errand  when 
McNish  broke  in  with  genial  abruptness. 

"I'm  a  good  deal  in  the  position  of  Tom  Dal  ton  down 
at  Spottsylvania,"  he  said.  "Tom  was  sent  out  as  a  spy, 
and  he  was  chumming  up  with  a  parcel  of  Johnnies  at  a 
rebel  outpost  when  his  own  regiment  surrounded  them 
and  took  them  prisoners.  They  were  all  marched  to  the 
rear  an'  examined,  Tom,  dressed  in  faded  butternut,  with 
the  rest.  When  they  came  to  examine  'em  and  got  to 
Tom,  he  remarked,  'Ye  needn't  waste  any  time  on  me. 
I'm  a  sergeant  in  A  Company.'  Said  afterwards  that  he'd 
never  been  a  rebel  prisoner  before,  and  that  it  was  a  great 
deal  more  fun  than  being  a  Yankee  spy.  So,"  con- 
tinued the  kindly  gentleman,  "you  needn't  waste  any 
time  on  me." 


138  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

They  soon  found  that  they  needed  every  minute  Mr. 
McNish  had  saved  for  them.  One  man  they  pursued  to 
the  Hampstead  Club,  and  dragged  him  from  a  game  of 
whist  to  make  him  reluctantly  promise  attendance  at  the 
next  morning's  meeting.  They  spent  the  better  part  of 
half  an  hour,  arguing  another  into  postponing  until  after- 
noon a  trip  out  of  town.  They  broke  into  a  patriotic 
meeting  at  the  Hampstead  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  find  a  third, 
and  were  forced  to  wait  until,  covered  with  glory  and 
perspiration,  he  finished  amid  great  applause  his  remarks 
and  his  gestures  concerning  "The  Flag  We  Love."  Of 
course,  after  this  applause  he  agreed  readily.  Then  they 
started  for  Tareville.  The  others  were  only  too  certain 
to  be  present. 

It  was  five  miles  to  Tareville,  five  long  miles,  over 
roads  thick  with  sticky  red  mud,  with  the  rain  beating 
steadily  in  their  faces  and  trickling  down  into  every  tiny 
opening  in  their  covering. 

"Better  jog  along  rapid,''  the  Colonel  said,  giving  the 
horse  the  rein  when  they  had  passed  the  last  groups  of 
houses.  "  I'd  rather  ask  a  favor  of  a  man  that  hedn't  hed 
his  dinner  than  of  a  man  I'd  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night." 

Jack  nodded,  and  then  started  to  a  sitting  posture,  as 
the  Colonel  emitted  a  loud  whoop  that  carried  far  out  into 
the  wet  darkness.  Then,  as  the  carriage  careened  and 
swayed  down  the  roadway,  a  dim  light  ahead  turned 
quickly  to  the  left.  A  minute  later  they  whirled  past 
a  team  pulled  up  by  the  roadside,  and  saw,  in  a  flash,  the 
white,  frightened  face  of  the  driver.  The  Colonel  laughed 
boisterously.     On  they  went,  each  gripping  the  buggy 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  139 

and  watching  the  road  ahead,  where  the  lantern,  hung 
beneath,  threw  its  flickering  light  among  weird  shadows 
that  played  about  the  horse's  beating  hoofs.  Other  teams 
turned  out  at  the  Colonel's  piercing  call,  and  the  panting 
livery  horse  ruled  the  road  for  perhaps  the  first  time  in 
its  humdrum  life. 

The  house  of  the  Tareville  director  was  dark  when  they 
reached  it,  but  he  appeared  in  dressing-gown  and  slip- 
pers, in  answer  to  their  repeated  ringing.  And  partly 
because,  as  he  explained,  he  was  an  old  friend  of  Sam 
Hardy's  father,  and,  perhaps,  partly  because  he  was  in  a 
hurry  to  be  back  in  bed,  he  assured  them  quickly  that  he 
would  come  to  Hampstead  for  the  meeting. 

They  jogged  slowly  homeward,  the  Colonel  scrooged 
down  in  the  seat,  trying  to  keep  dry.  Gilbert  sat  straight, 
peering  thoughtfully  into  the  darkness. 

"Unless  they've  got  something  big  up  their  sleeve,  we 
can  hold  them;  if  the  old  man  don't  get  somebody  mad." 

"  Hardy's  like  a  renegade  cayuse,"  growled  the  Colonel. 
"Ye  can't  lead  him  ner  drive  him.  Ye've  got  to  git  on 
his  back  and  lick  him  into  the  trail." 

"You've  got  to  handle  the  meeting,"  remarked  Gilbert. 

The  Colonel  only  swore  viciously  for  an  answer,  and 
Jack  was  satisfied.  As  they  neared  Hampstead  the  horse 
pricked  up  its  ears  at  the  familiar  surroundings  and  broke 
into  a  steady  trot.  Down  West  Hill  they  rumbled,  when 
suddenly  two  figures  started  out  of  nowhere,  it  seemed, 
into  the  road  directly  before  them.  With  a  hoarse  shout 
of  warning  Gilbert  caught  the  reins  from  the  Colonel's 
hands  and  lay  back  against  the  seat,  his  feet  braced, 
pulling  with  all  the  strength  of  his  big  body. 


140  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Other  cries  answered  his,  spontaneous  cries  of  warning 
and  fear.  In  the  sudden  struggle  to  get  out  of  the  way 
Billy  McNish  slipped  in  the  wet  street,  and  by  a  last  effort 
threw  Clare  Hardy  aside.  The  horse  slid  along  on  his 
haunches,  pawing  the  air  with  his  forelegs  directly  over 
Billy's  prostrate  form.  Then  there  was  a  quick  flash  of 
gray  beneath  the  pawing  beast,  and  Billy  was  dragged 
clear.  He  was  scarcely  out  of  danger  when  there  came 
the  report  of  a  bursting  firecracker  from  Mr.  Butterson's 
front  lawn,  and  the  horse  danced  nervously  away  to  the 
right  at  the  pull  of  the  rein.  The  girl  laughed  hysterically 
in  the  sudden  silence. 

"Them  fools  hurt?"  queried  the  Colonel  to  Gilbert,  who 
had  leaped  out  and  caught  the  horse's  head. 

"No,  I  guess  not."  Gilbert  was  facing  Miss  Hardy, 
her  mackintosh  smirched  with  mud,  and  Billy,  dripping 
with  dirty  water— a  strange  pair  in  the  light  from  the  arc- 
lamp  on  the  corner.  "I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  Then  he 
laughed  and  they  laughed  with  him,  shamefacedly,  like 
two  culprits  who  have  unexpectedly  been  caught. 

"My  fault,  old  man,"  said  Billy,  with  a  little  tremble  in 
his  voice,  "but  Clare  pulled  me  out." 

"The  bravest  thing  I  ever  saw  done,  Miss  Hardy." 
Gilbert  was  quickly  serious,  but  Miss  Hardy  merely 
laughed  again  hysterically. 

When  the  two  men  reached  the  Colonel's  gate,  the  old 
veteran,  when  he  had  stiffly  stepped  to  the  ground,  leaned 
over  the  muddy  wheel  to  say  good-night. 

"I  want  to  give  you  a  bit  o'  worldly  advice.  Jack,"  he 
remarked.  "Things  go  by  opposites  in  this  world.  Ef 
ye  do  things  fer  other  people  ye'll  respect  yerself,  but  ef 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  141 

ye  do  things  fer  yerself  other  people  '11  respect  you.  Ye've 
got  to  take  yer  choice.  It's  a  sure  thing  'at  Hardy  won't 
thank  ye  fer  anything  ye  do  fer  hini." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  waiting  for  him  when  Jack  reached 
home.  He  could  not  remember  a  time  when,  as  a  boy  or 
man,  he  had  ever  come  back  at  any  hour  without  finding 
her  ready  to  greet  him.  This  time  she  was  eager  to  know 
about  the  evening  at  the  Hardys',  and,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  he  consciously  deceived  her.  The  mud  on  his 
clothes  was  from  some  passing  team;  nearly  everyone 
had  stayed  late;  and  he  hastened  on  guiltily  to  describe 
the  women's  gowns — with  masculine  crudeness — and 
events  that  had  not  occurred  and  the  friendliness  of  every- 
body, which  he  had  not  experienced. 

"And  Miss  Hardy?"  questioned  Mrs.  Gilbert  insinu- 
atingly, when  she  was  satisfied. 

"Ask  Billy  McNish."  Gilbert  smiled,  but  not  in  his 
heart. 

At  about  the  same  time  Miss  Hardy,  in  a  trailing 
kimono,  was  lounging  in  a  huge  Morris  chair  in  the  tower 
of  the  Hardy  house.  "The  bravest  thing  I  ever  saw 
done."  The  words  were  echoing  insistently,  proudly  m 
her  mind.  And  when  she  fell  asleep,  half  an  hour  later, 
they  were  still  dinning  dully  in  her  ears. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   COLONEL   MAKES   A   SPEECH 

THE  rain  stopped  toward  daybreak,  and  when  Gil- 
bert left  the  house  and  joined  the  long  lines  of 
men  who  filed  down  to  the  silent  factories,  the 
sun  was  glinting  brightly  on  the  wet,  turned  leaves  that 
shadowed  the  walks.  Most  of  the  men  slouched  along 
lazily,  under  the  spell  of  the  hot,  enervating  morning,  but 
when  Hardy  &  Son's  seven  o'clock  whistle  blew,  the  mill 
awoke  like  a  great  monster  of  power,  and  shook  itself,  and 
breathed  forth  streams  of  black  smoke,  and  growled  and 
hummed  and  snarled  as  the  men,  grouped  in  their  accus- 
tomed places,  forced  its  thousand  tentacles  to  pierce  and 
bruise  and  shape  and  polish  the  hard  metal.  Activity  took 
the  place  of  laziness,  although  it  was  hotter  in  the  shop 
than  in  the  sun  outdoors;  and  the  workers  forgot  tempo- 
rarily the  sick  wives  and  children  at  home,  the  unpaid 
bills,  bickering  friends  and  sullen  enemies,  in  the  steady 
pulse-beat  of  the  machinery,  the  drive  of  an  all-engrossing 
task.  None  of  them  except  Gilbert,  pacing  the  various 
rooms  trying  to  keep  his  eye  from  the  clock  and  his  mind 
from  wondering  what  would  happen  at  eleven  in  Hardy's 
office,  dreamed  that  there  was  a  shadow  hanging  over  the 
restless,  pulsing  mills.  And  if  they  had  known  they  would 
not  have  cared  unless  they  had  feared  that  it  might  affect 
them.     A  regular  job  and  regular  pay;  these  were  their 

142 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  143 

only  interests  in  the  shops.  They  hated  Hardy  because 
he  constantly  menaced  these  interests.  Their  lives  were 
in  grooves  that  ran  from  their  homes  to  their  machines 
and  back,  and  they  had  banded  together  to  make  these 
grooves  solid  and  immovable. 

Gilbert,  in  dirty  overalls,  went  from  room  to  room, 
talking  with  superintendents  and  foremen.  Everywhere 
he  seemed  to  see  this  morning,  as  never  before,  the  need  of 
new  machines,  traces  of  expensive  waste,  evidences  of 
lack  of  interest.  He  went  out  into  the  yard,  and  saw  men 
toiling  above  him,  across  bridges  between  buildings,  with 
loads  which  should  have  been  ferried  across  on  automatic 
travelers.  Then  his  thoughts,  attracted  as  if  by  a  magnet, 
swung  back  to  the  meeting  and  to  the  uncertain  future. 

"What  are  you  doing.  Jack?"  growled  Mr.  Hardy, 
coming  suddenly  upon  him. 

"I'm  thinking,"  said  Gilbert  simply,  as  he  turned  with 
a  smile. 

"Well,  I  don't  pay  you  to  think,"  said  the  old  man 
crossly,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel.  Some  workmen  nearby 
overheard  and  laughed  covertly.  Gilbert's  hands  clenched 
and  then  relaxed.  Then  he  walked  on  toward  the  build- 
ing opposite.  And  he  was  still  there  when,  an  hour  later, 
he  was  summoned  to  the  president's  office. 

Mr.  Hardy  was  on  his  way  back  to  his  office  when  he 
spoke  to  Gilbert.  He  passed  Miss  Gerty  Smith  coming 
through  his  own  door  with  a  sheaf  of  papers  in  her  hand. 
Reaching  his  desk,  he  found  an  unopened  letter  which  had 
evidently  been  mislaid  from  the  morning's  mail.  He  tore 
it  open  and  read  a  duplicate  of  the  call  for  a  directors' 
meeting  which  the  Colonel  had  received  the  night  before. 


144  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Then  he  took  his  glasses  from  the  desk  where  he  had  left 
them  and  re-read  it.  Then  he  looked  at  the  clock.  It 
was  after  a  quarter  of  eleven.  Two  things  came  to  his 
mind:  the  rumors  of  Hubbard  and  the  stock,  and  John 
Gilbert's  question  as  he  left  the  house  on  the  previous 
night.  His  hand  reached  out  to  ring  a  bell  for  Jack,  but 
it  wavered  and  stopped.  He  went  to  the  front  window 
and  looked  out.  When  he  came  back  to  the  desk,  his 
coarse  lower  jaw  protruded  defiantly  and  his  face  was 
purple  with  anger.  He  took  a  stiff  drink  of  whiskey 
from  the  bottle  in  the  desk  drawer,  and  lit  a  long  black 
cigar.  Then  he  swung  his  seat  about  so  as  to  face  the 
door  and  waited.  For  nearly  ten  minutes  he  sat  there, 
tense  and  motionless  as  a  great  beast  at  bay  faces  an 
expected  attack.  Mr.  McNish  was  the  first  to  meet  his 
burning  eyes,  and,  being  a  man  of  peace,  McNish  sat  down 
by  the  farther  window.  To  him  and  to  the  rest  as  they 
came  Hardy  merely  jerked  his  head  roughly  for  a  greet- 
ing, but  he  straightened  and  grew  more  rigid  when,  last 
of  all,  Mr.  Brett  and  Mr.  Merrivale  came  in  together. 
Hardy  might  have  protested  against  the  snap  meeting, 
but  the  thought  never  entered  his  mind. 

"Come  to  order,''  he  snapped.  ''Somebody  state  the 
business." 

Captain  Merrivale  arose  in  the  uncomfortable  silence 
that  followed.  He  had  been  manifestly  surprised  that 
the  entire  board  was  present. 

"I  am  gratified,"  he  said  with  oratorical  emphasis, 
"that  every  director  of  the  concern  is  here,  for  I  have  a 
matter  of  grave  importance  to  bring  before  this  meeting. 
Very  recently,"  he  went  on  after  a  deliberate  pause,  "I 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  145 

learned  with  surprise  that  notes  of  this  concern  amount- 
ing to  upwards  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  had  been  sold  in 
New  York.  They  were  signed  by  the  president,  but  have 
certainly  never  been  authorized  by  this  board.  I  think 
the  matter  demands  explanation."  Captain  Merrivale 
did  not  look  at  Mr.  Hardy  when  he  sat  down.  He  stared 
instead,  with  an  assumed  air  of  nonchalance,  at  the  ceil- 
ing. There  was  a  full  moment  of  silence.  Then  Sam 
Hardy's  voice,  loud  and  hard,  broke  it:    ' 

"There  ain't  any  explanations.  I've  made  this  shop 
and,  by  God,  I'll  run  this  shop  without  any  interference 
from  you  or  anybody  else,"  and  he  shook  his  finger  men- 
acingly at  Merrivale.  "  If  this  board  wants  another  pres- 
ident," he  went  on,  glaring  at  the  others, "  I'll  get  out,  but 
while  I'm  here  I  don't  want  any  special  directors'  meetings 
nor  any  questions  asked." 

Once  before  at  a  directors'  meeting  he  had  said  almost 
the  same  thing,  and  at  that  time  they  had  bowed  before 
his  anger  and  begged  for  pardon  and  declared  that  it  was 
all  a  misunderstanding.  But  now  they  were  silent,  all 
except  Mayor  Brett,  who  sat  motionless  by  the  office  table. 

"Suppose,"  he  said  in  his  hard,  even  voice,  "suppose 
we  consider  seriously  Mr.  Hardy's  last  suggestion." 

There  was  triumph  in  Merrivale's  eyes,  for  Hardy  was 
playing  directly  into  their  hands.  Sam  Hardy  leaned 
forward,  brutal  with  anger,  the  veins  standing  out  in  his 
neck  like  whipcords,  his  fists  clenched  and  hard  as  flint, 
when  the  Colonel  broke  the  tension  with  an  explosive 
chuckle. 

"This  ain't  a  directors'  meetin',"  he  said.  "This  is  a 
cock-fight.    'Let  us  hev  peace,'  ez  Grant  used  to  say,  at 


146  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

least  long  enough  fer  the  rest  o'  us  to  find  out  exactly 
what  the  skirmish  is  about.  How  long,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  Merrivale,  "hev  ye  known  about  them  notes? 
Ye  said 'very  recently.'    How  long?" 

Merrivale  shifted  nervously  in  his  chair,  but  Mayor 
Brett  eyed  the  Colonel  impassively. 

"7^re  only  known  it  a — a  few  days."  The  slight  em- 
phasis upon  the  personal  pronoun  was  Merrivale's  sop  to 
his  Sunday  conscience.  The  Colonel  was  quick  to  use  it, 
however. 

"But  somebody  else  hes,  eh,  Mr.  Merrivale?  Now  I've 
alluz  played  the  game  plumb  open,  no  cards  up  m'  sleeve, 
an'  I'll  bet  ye  an'  give  ye  odds  thet  Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard 
hez  known  about  it  fer  a  good  deal  more'n  a  few  days." 

Mayor  Brett  came  to  Merrivale's  rescue. 

"We  aren't  here  to  bet,  Colonel  Mead.  We're  here  to 
talk  business." 

The  Mayor's  seeming  indifference  to  the  opinions  of 
others,  his  short,  curt  remarks,  and  his  general  attitude  of 
aloofness  were  the  secrets  of  his  power.  Hampstead  peo- 
ple looked  up  to  him  chiefly  because  he  looked  down  upon 
them.  There  was  a  hardness  about  him,  moreover,  and 
a  steely  gleam  in  his  little  beady  eyes  that  made  weak 
men  fear  him.  He  was  one  of  those  men,  who,  when  you 
pass  them  on  the  streets,  make  you  instinctively  feel  in 
your  pocket  for  your  purse,  to  be  certain  that  it  is  still  there. 

"Just  ez  you  say,"  continued  the  Colonel,  satisfied  that 
his  guess  was  correct  and  that  his  point  had  been  made 
with  the  independent  directors.  "It  alluz  makes  me 
peevish  to  win  on  a  dead  sure  thing.  When  did  you  call 
this  meetin',  Mr.  Secretary?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  147 

**  Yesterday/'  was  Brett's  laconic  answer. 

"When  did  you  get  yer  notice?"  The  Colonel  turned 
to  Sam  Hardy. 

"About  fifteen  minutes  ago,"  snarled  the  old  man. 

"Huh,"  ejaculated  the  Colonel,  with  another  chuckle. 
"Thet's  a  good  deal  like  shootin'  a  man  an'  then  an- 
noimcin'  of  his  legal  execution  to  him  afterwards.  Now, 
ef  ye'll  allow  me,  I  think  I  kin  elucydate  to  the  gentlemen 
of  the  board  of  directors" — and  the  Colonel  could  not 
restrain  from  emphasizing  the  word  "gentlemen" — "the 
case  as  it  appears  to  me.  I'll  tell  ye,  detailed,  a  story  that 
mebbe  won't  assay  first  class  as  to  truth,  but  which,  fer 
illustrative  perposes,  is  better'n  a  circus-poster — the 
which,  I  reckon,  is  what  ye'd  name  a  par'ble.  Thar  wuz 
once  a  man  out  in  the  cattle  country  thet  hed  a  big  ranch, 
an'  enemies  ez  thick  ez  bunch  grass.  He  wuz  ez  pig- 
headed ez  'n  obstinate  woman,  an'  ef  anyone  set  foot 
within  a  mile  of  him,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  tread  on 
the  toes  o'  thet  foot.  His  neighbors  they  appreciated  his 
ranch,  but  they  'lowed  thet  he'd  be  a  more  useful  citizen 
in  some  higher  er  lower  territory.  Thar  wuz  threats 
around  about  hangin'  him,  and  he  heard  'em.  An',  bein' 
a  fool  ez  well  ez  a  brave  man,  he  put  a  rope  'round  his 
neck  an'  went  ridin'  round  his  ranch,  boastful  ez  ever. 
Well,  'twasn't  long  'fore  his  neighbors  got  hold  o'  the  end 
o'  thet  rope.  An'  when  they  strung  him  up  they  all  wuz 
ez  innocent  ez  hull  families  unborn.  They'd  foimd  him 
with  the  rope  'round  his  neck,  they  sed.  Now,  whether 
he  wuz  cut  down  in  time  er  not,  I  ain't  decided.  Ye  kin 
finish  the  story  in  yer  own  way." 

A  puzzled,  amused  interest  was  evident  on  the  faces  of 


148  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

most  of  the  directors  as  the  Colonel  finished  his  parable, 
but  Captain  Merrivale  jumped  to  his  feet,  protesting. 

'*!  ain't  through  yet,"  went  on  the  Colonel.  "This  is 
the  first  reel  speech  I  ever  made.  I've  prepared  it  care- 
ful an'  I  calculate  to  deliver  it.  Thar's  a  lot  o'  unhealthy 
personal  feelin'  in  this  business.  Th'  only  way  I  know  to 
git  rid  o'  bad  blood  is  to  spill  it  in  a  fair  fight,  an'  I  reckon 
the  rest  of  us  here'd  be  glad  to  make  a  ring  an'  cheer  ye 
on  impartial."  Everyone  except  the  Mayor  and  Merri- 
vale smiled  broadly  at  this  suggestion.  Even  Hardy's 
face  relaxed.  "But" — the  Colonel  grew  suddenly  seri- 
ous— "we're  here  fer  the  good  o'  this  fact'ry.  I  say,  of 
course,  thet  this  note-selling  business  wuz  a  mistake,  but, 
ef  we  wuz  all  chucked  out  o'  things  every  time  we  made  a 
mistake,  I  reckon  thar  wouldn't  be  anybody  a  holdin' 
down  steady  jobs.  The  first  thing  we've  got  to  do  is  to 
see  that  these  notes  are  paid,  an'  the  next  is  to  see  thet 
it  ain't  ever  necessary  again  to  sell  any  notes.  We've 
been  takin'  so  little  interest  that  it  ain't  onnatural  thet 
Hardy  here  thinks  he's  the  hull  outfit.  This  concern's 
makin'  a  lot  o'  stuff,  but  it  ain't  makin'  much  money. 
I'd  like  to  ask  yer  sup'rintendent  some  questions  'fore 
I  go  on." 

While  the  Colonel  was  talking  Mr.  Brett  and  Captain 
Merrivale  were  having  a  whispered  conversation,  but  now 
they  leaned  back  quickly  in  their  chairs, — Merrivale  ob- 
viously surprised  and  disappointed  at  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken,  and  a  sardonic  smile  on  the  Mayor's  face  alone 
showing  any  emotion  he  may  have  felt.  Sam  Hardy 
hesitated  a  moment,  looking  quest ioningly  first  at  the 
Colonel  and  then  at  the  others.     Then  he  leaned  over  to 


w 


m^m^^.^: 


•^ 


The  Colonel  makes  a  speech. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  149 

his  desk,  rang  the  bell  for  Gilbert,  and  sat  rigid  once  more, 
his  arms  folded. 

The  room  was  silent  when  Gilbert  entered.  It  is  doubt- 
ful if  any  two  men  anticipated  exactly  the  same  result 
from  his  coming. 

"This  is  the  Board  of  Directors,  Jack,"  said  Hardy 
without  looking  at  him.  "They  want  to  ask  you  some 
questions." 

The  Colonel  nodded  to  him  with  a  whimsical  smile. 

"We  want  to  know,"  he  said,  "ef  somethin'  can't  be 
done  to  make  goods  cheaper?  " 

Grouped  about  the  table  and  by  the  window,  the  eight 
men  waited  expectantly  to  hear  what  the  big  workman 
in  overalls,  his  hands  black  with  grease,  would  say,  while 
Hardy,  in  his  official  isolation,  stared  aimlessly  at  the 
floor.  Gilbert  looked  across  at  the  president  doubtfully. 
He  could  not  understand  how  it  had  happened  that  he 
was  summoned  or  why  Mr.  Hardy  sat  silent;  but  he  caught 
the  ColoneFs  anxious  nod. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  have  plans  for  that,  which 
have  been  shown  to  Mr.  Hardy  and  put  aside  temporarily 
on  account  of — of  the  expense,  I  think." 

"Trot  'em  out."  The  Colonel  was  ruling  the  meeting 
with  a  high  hand,  and  he  was  enjoying  it  hugely.  Many 
of  the  other  directors  seemed  to  be  enjoying  it  also,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  room  had  lost  its  tenseness.  The 
meeting  was  a  novelty  to  them  all,  for  previous  Hardy 
directors'  meetings  had  been  formal,  cut-and-dried  affairs 
with  nothing  gained  or  lost  by  either  attendance  or 
absence. 

When  Gilbert  returned  with  his  precious  papers  they 


150  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

listened  to  him  steadily  for  more  than  twenty  minutes,  as 
he  described  the  factory's  needs  and  outlined  his  plans. 
His  face  was  flushed  and  he  talked  with  the  assurance  of 
achievement,  readily  and  vividly.  He  went  into  almost 
exhaustive  detail  about  the  saving  of  each  proposed 
machine,  about  the  ways  in  which  waste  might  be  utilized, 
about  the  patents  he  wished  to  apply  for  whenever  his 
plans  were  worked  out,  about  the  men  and  their  relations 
to  the  problem;  and  they  listened,  many  of  them  as  much 
interested  in  the  man  as  they  were  in  his  schemes  for  the 
mills.  Sam  Hardy,  however,  alternately  watched  the 
Colonel  and  Gilbert,  and  his  face  grew  grim,  hard,  malev- 
olent; so  obviously  so,  indeed,  that  it  attracted  the 
beady  eyes  of  the  Mayor,  who  suddenly  awoke  from  his 
passivity,  in  the  middle  of  Gilbert's  explanations,  long 
enough  to  whisper  to  Captain  Merrivale.  The  Captain, 
who  had  been  fidgeting  in  his  chair,  turned  quickly  and 
looked  at  Mr.  Hardy.  His  expression  grew  more  alert; 
he  smiled  and  nodded. 

"What  '11  the  hull  thing  cost?"  asked  the  Colonel  while 
Gilbert  folded  up  his  papers. 

"Between  fifty  and  seventy-five  thousand  dollars,  I 
should  say,  but  it  can  be  done,  of  course,  gradually." 

Two  or  three  other  questions  were  asked  and  answered. 
Then  Gilbert  hurried  back  to  his  office  with  the  papers, 
and  from  there  out  into  the  shop  for  the  last  few  minutes 
of  a  waning  morning.  He  was  absent-minded  over  his 
work,  however,  for  he  was  wondering  how  it  had  all  come 
about  and  what  it  might  mean  to  him  and  to  Hardy  & 
Son. 

Meanwhile  Sam  Hardy  was  speaking,  the  moment  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  151 

door  slammed  behind  Gilbert.  He  looked  combatively 
directly  at  the  Colonel. 

"I'm  pretty  sure  I  can  take  up  those  notes  all  right. 
Knew  I  could  from  the  start.  And  these  plans  of  my 
superintendent,  I  can  look  after  them,  too.  I  intended 
to,  anyhow,  those  of  them  that  are  any  good,  whenever  I 
can  get  to  it." 

The  Colonel  rose  to  his  feet  once  more  and  his  eyes  met 
Hardy's  fighting  gaze  steadily. 

"Thar's  a  surplus,  so  I've  been  told — I  naturally 
wouldn't  know  anything  about  it,  bein'  only  a  humble 
director  in  Hardy  &  Son,"  he  interjected  sarcastically — 
"a  surplus  of  more'n  two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  I 
therefore  move  ye,  Mister  President,  that  this  board  of 
directors  hereby  appropriate  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars  o'  that  surplus  toward  the  takin'  up  of  these  notes. 
I  also  move  ye  that  Mister  John  Gilbert  be  to-day  elected 
General  Manager  of  this  concern,  and  that  fifty  thousand 
dollars  be  appropriated  fer  the  carryin'  on  o'  his  plans 
fer  puttin'  Hardy  &  Son  on  hand-shakin'  terms  with 
dividends  an'  prosperity." 

Sam  Hardy  shook  his  head  angrily  when  the  Colonel 
sat  down. 

"That  surplus  mustn't  be  touched,"  he  shouted.  "It 
isn't  needed.  Nobody  with  any  pride  in  this  company 
would  suggest  such  a  thing." 

Colonel  Mead,  meanwhile,  was  being  advised  by  Mr. 
McNish  to  put  his  motions  separately.  This  he  imme- 
diately did,  and  they  were  carried,  one  after  another,  with 
only  the  director  from  Tareville  voting  in  opposition. 
Mayor  Brett  and  Merrivale  both  voted  "aye,"  and  the 


152  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Colonel  realized  that  they  were  taking  the  only  way  left 
to  them  of  weakening  Sam  Hardy.  He  only  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  however,  and  when  the  meeting  adjourned 
— just  as  the  whistle  blew  for  the  noon  hour — he  hurried 
out  with  Mr.  McNish  to  look  for  Gilbert. 

The  door  closed  behind  the  last  of  the  directors,  the 
,man  from  Tareville,  who  alone  stopped  to  add  a  genial 
word  to  the  president.  Sam  Hardy  again  sat  alone  at 
his  desk.  He  felt  suddenly  faint  and,  rising,  he  stumbled 
across  to  the  window  and  feverishly  breathed  in  deep  gulps 
of  air.  From  the  window  he  could  see  the  irregular  line 
of  dirty  brick  buildings,  his  shops  that  he  had  almost  lost, 
and  the  men  hustling  out  in  noisy  crowds.  Sharp  pains 
shot  through  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  body  felt  like 
an  empty  shell  through  which  some  heavy  weight  was 
pushing  down,  down,  down,  as  if  to  crush  out  breath  and 
life.  For  a  moment  he  stood  staring.  Then  he  caught 
himself  with  quick  tension,  and,  going  over  to  the  desk, 
he  poured  out  with  trembling  hands  a  long  drink  of  whis- 
key. Slowly  his  unstrung  nerves  steadied  themselves 
with  the  stimulant.  He  thought  more  clearly.  They 
had  tried  to  take  his  shops  away  from  him.  Brett  and 
Merrivale  had  turned  on  him,  and  perhaps  Hubbard  was 
behind  them.  They  had  taken  half  of  his  surplus,  the 
surplus  that  had  always  been  his  pride.  They  had  openly 
insulted  him.  And  Jack  Gilbert  had  known  all  about  it 
beforehand.  Jack  Gilbert  had  engineered  the  whole  thing 
to  gain  credit  for  himself  and  disgrace  for  him.  He  might 
have  expected  it,  Hardy  told  himself  bitterly.  He  closed 
down  his  desk  and  started  out  toward  home.  Outside,  he 
looked  back  at  the  silent  shops,  which  lay,  instinct  with 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  153 

power,  resting  in  the  summer  sun;  and  the  old  lines  of 
indomitable,  stubborn  will  settled  about  his  mouth  and 
chin. 

"Mr.  Hardy,"  called  Gilbert's  voice  from  behind  him. 

The  old  man  turned  with  a  snarl.  Gilbert  had  left  the 
Colonel  and  Mr.  McNish  and  was  crossing  the  street  to 
join  him. 

"  I  won't  talk  to  ye,"  bellowed  Mr.  Hardy.  "  I  always 
thought  you  threw  a  straight  ball,  but  now — I'll  get  on  to 
your  curves,  damn  you."  He  stamped  off  up  the  street. 
Gilbert  returned  to  his  friends,  but  he  did  not  join  in  their 
laughter.  His  first  flash  of  anger  at  "the  old  man's" 
unfairness  gave  way  quickly,  however,  to  a  smile.  Hardy's 
remark  brought  back  to  his  mind  the  half  humorous,  half 
pathetic  picture  of  "  the  old  man  "  standing  in  the  rickety 
grandstand  at  Kemper's  Park,  waving  his  umbrella 
frantically  as  the  winning  runs  were  scored  in  a  game 
between  the  nines  of  Hardy  &  Son  and  Hubbard  &  Wells. 

"He'll  be  all  right,"  he  said,  "when  he  understands. 
Of  course,  I  appreciate  you're  doing  it,  Colonel,  and  I'm 
glad  you  did  it,  but  I'm  sorry  you  had  to  antagonize  him." 

"Can't  reason  with  a  man  like  Hardy,"  muttered  the 
Colonel,  "by  slapping  his  face  soft-like.  Ye  hev  to  black 
his  eyes  and  bust  his  nose  'fore  he  begins  to  think." 

"You'd  better  get  proxies  out  for  the  regular  stock- 
holders' meeting  in  a  hurry, —to-night,"  went  on  Gilbert. 
"The  other  bunch  will  get  ahead  of  us  if  you  don't. 
Hardy  won't  think  it's  necessary  yet.  It'll  be  too  late  by 
the  time  we  get  'the  old  man'  to  see  things  right." 

"Suppose,"  ventured  Mr.  McNish  anxiously,  "sup- 
pose he  don't  ever  see  things  right?" 


154  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Gilbert's  face  was  troubled  as  he  stared  at  the  thick-set 
figure  far  ahead  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  but  his 
voice  was  quiet  and  determined. 

"We'll  have  to  fight  him  for  his  own  sake,  that's  all," 
he  said. 


CHAPTER   X 

A  THREE-CORNEEED    FIGHT 

nV  "TOOTHING  was  sacred  in  Hampstead,  except  busi- 
^^  ness.  Moriarty  once  remarked  with  more  truth 
-^  ^  than  good  grammar:  "If  my  Katie  goes  out  in 
the  backyard  to  hang  up  a  close-line,  sure  'tis  all  over  the 
neighborhood  in  foive  minutes."  And  "all  over  the 
neighborhood '^  meant  all  over  the  town,  for  Hampstead 
was  in  its  growing-up  period  of  a  town's  life,  the  period  of 
asking  persistent  questions,  of  hearing  things  not  intended 
for  its  ears,  and  of  telling  all  that  it  heard  and  much  more 
than  it  knew.  Its  house-cats  often  seemed  wistful  over 
their  dumbness.  But  business  was  comparatively  sacred. 
The  Hardy  &  Son  directors'  meeting,  therefore,  brought 
before  the  townspeople  merely  the  personal  fact  that  John 
Gilbert  had  been  made  the  general  manager  of  the  fac- 
tory, and  they  bowed  to  him  in  the  street  more  respect- 
fully and  remembered  that  they  had  always  thought  him 
a  promising  young  man. 

Gilbert  himself  was  too  busy,  however,  to  notice  their 
new  attitude  or  to  care  what  they  thought.  All  summer 
long  he  actually  lived  at  the  shops.  On  the  afternoon  of 
the  directors'  meeting  he  had  ordered  some  of  the  simple 
automatic  machines  he  had  planned,  from  large  machine 
shops  in  Hampstead  and  Westbury.  He  enlarged  his  own 
machine  room,  and  set  the  men  there  at  work  under  his 

155 


156  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

own  supervision  on  three  more  intricate  machines.  On 
some  inventions  he  appHed  for  patents,  but  others  he  in- 
corporated into  the  machines,  trusting  more  to  the  privacy 
of  his  shop  than  to  the  publicity  of  the  patent  office.  He 
turned  the  force  of  men — many  of  them  day  laborers— 
who  were  usually  laid  off  in  the  summer,  to  the  work  of 
installing  the  automatic  traveler  and  the  waste-utilizing 
devices  he  bought  or  built.  Others  found  themselves 
dragged  away  from  their  regular  work  to  move  machinery 
and  shafting;  a  bookkeeper  helped  build  a  new  shute; 
and  two  or  three  idle  shipping  clerks  cleaned  up  and  sorted 
scrap  that  had  accumulated  in  valuable  proportions  in 
unexpected  hidden  corners.  Violence  was  done  daily  to 
union  rules  and  union  precedent.  Jethro  and  Tom 
Grady  and  a  few  others  grumbled  about  it,  but  their 
grumbling  was  drowned  in  the  noisy  whirl  of  the  work. 
Of  course,  there  were  many  of  the  men  who  dragged 
themselves  along  in  the  old  way,  hearing  only  the  whistle 
calling  them  to  work  or  sending  them  home  again;  but  the 
majority  of  them  fell  into  step  behind  Gilbert  as  he 
marched  steadily  and  untiringly  forward.  Carpenters 
hurried  in  and  out,  and  an  occasional  electrician  or  mason. 
Everything  seemed  a  rushing,  aimless  hurly-burly,  but 
always  Gilbert  or  one  of  the  foremen  brought  order  out 
of  the  chaos.  He  camped  at  the  shop  every  noon,  eating 
his  lunch  with  anyone  and  everyone,  taking  them  into 
his  confidence  as  far  as  he  could,  urging  them  on,  thank- 
ing them,  filling  them  full  of  his  own  enthusiasm  and  de- 
termination. At  night  he  was  often  at  the  shops,  conduct- 
ing a  kind  of  impromptu  night  school  among  certain 
groups  of  younger  men  who  were  learning  their  trades. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  157 

And,  all  the  time,  the  big  mill  was  in  some  way  disgorging 
daily,  goods  enough  to  meet  the  relaxed  summer  demand. 

Day  by  day  Gilbert  realized  more  fully  the  immensity 
of  the  work  he  had  planned,  and  day  by  day  he  enjoyed 
more  every  detail  of  it.  This  was  what  he  had  been  un- 
consciously seeking,  a  chance  to  grapple  with  a  great  task 
and  to  manufacture  an  achievement,  huge,  iron-framed 
and  pulsing  with  power.  And  often,  late  at  night,  he  lay 
in  his  bed,  staring  into  the  darkness,  and  smiling  over  the 
work  of  the  day  that  had  gone  and  of  the  day  to  come. 

Long  before  the  summer  was  over  he  had  reason  to  be 
thankful  for  his  big  awkward  body  and  its  capacity  for 
enduring  fatigue,  and  for  his  slow,  steady  mind  which  a 
hundred  worries  seldom  put  off  the  straight  track  to  the 
ends  he  sought.  Of  course,  there  were  many  worries; — the 
greatest  of  them  the  coming  stockholders'  meeting,  which 
hung  menacing  above  his  highest  hopes  like  a  Damocles' 
sword,  and  Sam  Hardy's  sustained  antagonism.  Hardy 
seldom  left  the  office  now,  and  when  he  did  appear  in  the 
shops  he  ostentatiously  ignored  his  superintendent.  He 
snubbed  Gilbert  so  openly  when  Jack,  in  his  direct  way, 
tried  to  tell  him  the  plain  truth  about  the  directors'  meet- 
ing, that  Gilbert's  pride  made  him  give  it  up  hopelessly. 
After  a  long  talk  with  Gilbert,  genial  Mr.  McNish  went  to 
see  "the  old  man,"  but  he  came  away  so  bubbling  over 
with  anger  as  to  be  almost  incoherent,  declaring  that  he 
had  forever  "washed  his  hands  of  Sam  Hardy."  Then 
Gilbert  tried  Billy  as  a  last  resort.  Billy  listened  to  all 
that  Gilbert  told  him  with  an  air  of  judicial  aloofness,  that 
would  have  been  amusing  if  it  had  not  been  so  unlike  him. 
He  said  only  that  he  doubted  his  own  influence  with  Mr. 


158  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Hardy  in  the  matter,  but  he  was  so  obviously  indifferent 
and  he  watched  Gilbert  in  such  a  carefully  prepared, 
heavy-lidded,  speculative  way,  that  at  last  Jack  broke 
out  with: 

"Honest,  Billy,  anybody  'Id  think  you  believed  as 
Hardy  does." 

"I'm  not  quite  sure,  you  know,  what  I  do  believe,'*  was 
Billy's  hesitating  answer. 

Gilbert,  entirely  concentrated  in  the  factory  problems, 
and  without  a  thought  of  politics  in  his  mind,  stared, 
frankly  astonished  at  his  friend.  Then  he  rose  and  picked 
up  his  hat. 

"  All  right,  Billy,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  go. 

"There's  something  I  should  like  to  say,"  said  Billy, 
rising  also  and  assuming  a  melodramatic  pose. 

"Don't  say  it,  Billy.     We  both  might  be  sorry." 

That  Billy  should  doubt  his  motives  hurt  Gilbert  more 
than  the  failure  of  his  last  attempt  to  reconcile  "the  old 
man."  If  an  old  friend  like  Billy  questioned  his  good 
faith,  what  must  be  her  attitude  toward  him?  He  gave  up 
his  work  that  night  to  make  his  delayed  "party  call"  at 
the  Hardys'.  It  was  a  bold  experiment,  but  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  know  what  to  expect  from  her.  He  had 
other  feelings  about  it,  also,  but  he  did  not  permit  himself 
to  analyze  them.  He  came  away  from  the  door  of  the 
Hardy  house,  with  his  lips  pursed  in  a  forced  smile.  He 
had  heard  her  voice  while  the  maid  was  telling  him  that 
she  was  not  at  home.  Well,  that  was  done  with,  at  any 
rate.  Done  with!  He  knew  suddenly  that  if  it  was  true, 
if  "that  was  done  with,"  the  whole  achievement,  that  he 
was  building  by  day  and  lying  awake  nights  to  plan, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  159 

would  ring  hollow.  He  knew  suddenly  that,  without  her 
to  share  it  with  him,  success  was  only  black  failure,  gilded 
perhaps  but  black  underneath.  He  knew  suddenly  that 
he  loved  her,  and  the  knowledge  shook  him  strangely. 
He  walked  for  hours  that  night,  and  when  he  came  back 
his  shoulders  were  squared  and  his  head  was  held  high  and 
there  was  a  new  light  in  his  eyes. 

Proxies  to  represent  the  stockholders  at  the  September 
meeting  had  been  sent  out  immediately,  as  Gilbert  sug- 
gested. The  Colonel  had  growled  about  it  testily,  as 
usual,  but,  as  usual,  also,  he  made  sure  that  it  was  done 
thoroughly.  And  in  spite  of  his  periodical  outbreaks 
against  Gilbert  and  himself  for  trying  to  help  Sam  Hardy, 
Colonel  Mead  was  as  keenly  interested  in  the  struggle  for 
the  proxies  as  even  John  Gilbert  himself,  and  more  confi- 
dent of  success. 

"I  declar,"  said  the  Colonel,  a  grim  smile  lighting  his 
grizzled  face,  one  night  when  Gilbert  was  with  him,  "I 
wouldn't  know  ye  to  what  ye  wuz  a  year  ago.  Then  ye 
wuz  jest  sloppin'  around  in  the  slough  o'  despond,  an'  not 
carin'  much  whether  ye  got  out  er  not;  an'  now  look  at  ye  I 
Ye  got  blood  in  yer  eyes,  an'  ye  walk  on  yer  heels  an' 
generally  look  ez  ef  life  wuz  an  eternal  picnic,  with  lobster 
salad  an'  ice  cream  fer  every  meal." 

"I  wonder  what's  got  into  Billy  McNish,"  said  Gilbert 
musingly. 

Billy  was  not  a  favorite  with  the  Colonel.  The  veteran 
pulled  frowningly  at  his  pipe. 

"Women  are  cur'us  critters,"  he  remarked  with  seem- 
ing irrelevance.  "  One  reason  why  men  like  'em,  I  reckon, 
is  because  they're  irritatin'  kind  o'  puzzles,  like  *Pigs  in  the 


160  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Clover/  Ye  corral  one  part  o'  ther  characters  and  think 
yeVe  got  it  hobbled  so  it  can't  git  away.  Then  ye  start 
to  drive  in  another,  an',  'fore  ye  know  it,  out  jumps  the 
first  one  an'  ye've  got  to  start  all  over  again.  An'  ef  ye 
ever  do  git  'em  all  corraled  at  once,  why  ye  lose  all  int'rest 
in  the  game.  They's  only  one  thing  sure  about  'em,  an' 
that  is  thet  ye  can't  be  sure  o'  anything  about  'em.  I've 
alluz  figgered  thet  a  woman's  mind  ain't  gray  matter. 
It's  a  bunch  o'  rainbows  with  colors  that  run.  They're 
made  to  think  crisscross.  An'  so's  Billy,"  added  the 
Colonel  reflectively,  coming  suddenly  back  to  the  subject 
of  conversation.  "  Billy,  he's  half  a '  Pigs  in  Clover '  game 
hisself.  Don't  ye  worry  about  him.  Why,  ye  never  kin 
tell,  fer  five  conseq-u-tive  minutes,  whar  Billy  stands  on 
anything,  ner  why  he's  thar,  ner  how  he  got  thar,  ner  when 
he's  goin'  to  vamoose  to  somewhars  else." 

Womenkind  were  the  Colonel's  aversion  and  diversion. 
He  never  was  more  unhappy  than  when  he  was  in  a  com- 
pany of  women,  and  he  never  was  happier  than  when  he 
was  discoursing  wisely  and  from  a  distance  upon  their 
failings.  But  his  remarks  about  Billy  were  unsatisfac- 
tory to  Gilbert,  and  the  conversation  turned  abruptly  to 
Sam  Hardy  and  to  the  shops. 

"We've  got  to  make  Hhe  old  man'  understand,  some- 
how," said  Gilbert.  '^Have  you  ever  thought  that  he 
might  go  so  far  as  to  join  up  with  Hubbard,  for  a  consid- 
eration, of  course?" 

"Ez  to  makin'  him  understand,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
"ye  might  jest  ez  well  try  to  make  a  steer  thet's  bein' 
branded  understand  Christianity.  But  he  won't  tie  up 
with  them.     It's  a  three-cornered  fight,  with  us  standin' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  161 

ready  to  act  ez  his  reinforcements,  ef  he  says  the  right 
word." 

"Of  course,  Colonel,  we  stick  to  Hardy  to  the  finish, 
whether  he  says  the  right  word  or  not." 

The  Colonel  smiled  quizzically. 

" It's  funny,  ain't  it?"  he  remarked,  blowing  a  big  cloud 
of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling.  "  Ef  ye  knock  a  man  down 
he'll  love  ye  like  a  brother,  but  ef  ye  do  him  an  almighty 
good  turn  he'll  alluz  be  waitin'  jest  around  the  corner 
with  a  knife  up  his  sleeve." 

"By  the  way,"  asked  Gilbert,  "have  you  got  Tubb's 
proxy  yet?" 

Mr.  Tubb  had  a  considerable  holding  in  Hardy  stock. 

"Says  he's  goin'  to  let  me  know  next  week." 

As  the  days  went  by  and  proxies  came  in  to  the  Colonel 
and  Mr.  McNish,  the  excitement  of  the  two  men  grew  in 
ways  to  match  their  temperaments.  The  Colonel,  with 
buoyant  confidence,  was  always  counting  the  total  number 
of  shares  of  stock  for  which  they  held  proxies,  and  cau- 
tious Mr.  McNish  was  always  adding  up  the  larger  number 
that  someone  else  controlled. 

They  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  great  reason  for  encour- 
agement, for  their  early  start  had  helped  them  even  more 
than  Gilbert  had  hoped.  By  the  first  of  August  they  had, 
including  the  support  quietly  gained  from  Hampstead 
men,  more  than  a  quarter  of  the  voting  power  in  their 
hands.  The  Colonel  sent  out  a  second  batch  of  letters, 
and  Mr.  McNish  wagged  his  head  doubtfully  about  the 
remaining  shares  necessary  for  control.  He  knew  that 
they  would  come  in  more  slowly,  if  at  all.  Gilbert's 
younger  eye,  however,  noticed  one  day  that  from  groups 


162  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

of  stockholders  in  Albany,  Pittsfield  and  Springfield, 
where  the  elder  Mr.  Hardy  had  sold,  through  friends,  con- 
siderable quantities  of  stock  in  the  early,  growing  years  of 
the  concern,  only  three  or  four  proxies  had  arrived.  He 
urged  the  Colonel  to  spend  a  week  visiting  the  three  cities 
and  personally  seeing  these  men,  but  Colonel  Mead  had 
his  heart  set  on  a  month  at  the  Sound  shore,  and  "  pooh- 
poohed"  the  idea.  Mr.  McNish  was  too  busy  to  give  up 
the  time.  So  the  Colonel  went  away  for  his  vacation, 
leaving  Gilbert  to  watch  the  mails  closely  for  returns  from 
the  three  cities  and  to  grow  more  certain,  as  the  weeks 
passed,  that  his  intuition  was  correct. 

Strangely  enough  Gilbert  had  come  to  depend  upon 
Joe  Heffler.  Every  night  when  the  whistle  blew,  the 
gray-haired  young  fellow,  with  an  anxious,  almost  pleading 
face,  came  to  him. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?"  was  the  mo- 
notonous question. 

Gilbert  found  that  Heffler  seemed  disappointed  when 
he  shook  his  head  and  said  that  there  was  ''nothing  at 
all."  And  he  soon  began  finding  things  for  Heffler  to  do, 
little  things  which  were  done  eagerly  and  thoroughly. 
Sometimes  Heffler  spent  entire  evenings  at  the  shops, 
helping  Gilbert  with  anything  he  had  in  hand,  and  always 
he  asked  for  more  to  do,  seemingly  unsatisfied  unless 
every  leisure  moment  was  spent  in  Gilbert's  service. 
But  he  retained  his  silence  and  his  sensitive  aloofness. 

"  Joe,"  said  Gilbert  one  night,  in  response  to  the  usual 
question,  "I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  a  mighty  delicate 
thing,  or  perhaps  a  mighty  indeUcate  thing.  You  do  it 
or  not,  as  you  hke." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  163 

"Yes,  sir."  Heffler's  gaze  was  directed  at  Gilbert's 
chin.  He  seldom  more  than  flashed  for  a  second  a 
straight-in-the-eye  glance.  It  was  one  of  the  marks  that 
the  prison  shame  had  left  upon  him. 

"You  know  Miss  Gerty  Smith." 

Heffler  started  suddenly,  and  looked  away  as  he  nodded. 

"Well,  frankly,  I  don't  trust  her.  I  think  Mr.  Brett 
has  got  her  wound  about  his  little  finger.  I  believe  she's 
telling  him  everything  about  us  that  he  can't  find  out  him- 
self. IVe  made  a  rule  that  none  of  the  stenographers  can 
come  out  into  the  shops,  but  she  comes,  with  Mr.  Hardy's 
permission,  when  I'm  not  around,  and  she  watches  the 
work  and  talks  with  the  men.  Now  I'd  like  you  to  keep 
your  eye  on  her  and  try  to  find  out  for  sure  what  she's  up 
to.  '  Tisn't  a  nice  job,  but  it's  necessary,  and  you  can  get 
Jimmy  O'Rourke  to  help  you  at  the  other  end.  Jimmy's 
put  me  wise  to  a  lot  of  things  already." 

Hefiier  took  off  his  cap  and  ran  his  fingers  nervously 
through  his  thick  gray  hair. 

"  What  'd  you  do  to  her  if  you  caught  her? "  he  asked 
hesitatingly. 

"I  don't  know."  Gilbert's  curiosity  was  aroused. 
Heffler  had  never  questioned  anything  he  had  said  be- 
fore. "I'd  probably" — he  went  on  slowly — "probably 
give  her  a  chance  to  tell  what  she  knows  and  then — I 
don't  know.  You  can't  be  rough  on  a  woman,  you 
know." 

Heffler  nodded  and  there  was  a  long  pause. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  Heffler  said  slowly, "  if  there  won't  anything 
wrong  come  to  her.     She's  a — a  kind  of  a  friend  of  mine." 

Gilbert's  hand  settled  heavily  on  Joe  Hefller's  shoulder. 


164  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Don't  think  any  more  about  it,  Joe/'  he  said.  "I 
didn't  know." 

Heffler  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  I  told  Peter  the  other  day,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an 
obvious  eagerness  to  regain  any  confidence  he  might  have 
lost,  "  to  keep  his  ears  open  about  all  those  men  and  to  let 
you  know  anything  he  heard.     He  said  he  would." 

"Good."  Gilbert's  tone  was  hearty.  "You're  a 
mighty  big  help  to  me,  Joe.  Don't  know  how  I  ever  got 
along  without  you." 

Heffler's  pale  face  flushed  with  pleasure,  but  that  was 
his  only  answer. 

Two  or  three  days  later,  while  Gilbert  was  in  the  ma- 
chine room  assembling  one  of  the  new  machines,  word 
came  to  him  that  there  was  someone  waiting  to  see  him 
in  his  office. 

"Have  him  see  Billings,  or  Walters,  or  Moines.  I'm 
too  busy,"  he  told  the  boy. 

"Tried  that.     Won't  see  anyone  but  you,  sir." 

"What's  his  name?"  said  Jack,  impatiently  looking  up 
from  the  work. 

"Lumpkin." 

Gilbert  called  the  room  boss  to  take  hold  of  the  work, 
and  hurried  across  to  his  office.  There,  indeed,  was  Mr. 
Lumpkin,  clean  shaven,  well  brushed,  and  resplendent  in 
a  new  tie  of  bird's-egg  blue  against  a  background  of  yellow 
shirt. 

"Well,  bless  my  soul,"  he  exclaimed  in  his  big,  hearty 
voice  as  he  stared  at  Gilbert's  overalls  and  grimy  face  and 
hands.  "I'd  hardly  know  you,  Mister  Gilbert.  Still,  a 
little  dirt  don't  hurt  anybody,  as  the  Scripture  says,  or 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  165 

words  to  that  effect.  *  Show  me  a  man,'  I  often  says  to 
myself,  'show  me  a  man  who's  afraid  to  soil  his  hands 
with  the  earth  from  which  he  was  made  and  to  which  he 
shall  return,'  I  says,  'and  I'll  show  you  a  man  without 
grit,  grip  er  gumption ' " 

Gilbert  interrupted  him  at  this  juncture. 

"What's  up,  Lumpkin?  I'm  rushed  to  death  this 
morning." 

''Now,  isn't  that  curious?"  Mr.  Lumpkin  wiped  his 
brow  with  a  red  bandanna  and  beamed  at  the  big  man. 
"That's  just  what  I  was  saying  to  myself  as  I  walked 
down  the  street.  I  said  to  myself,  'Peter,'  I  says, 
'  you're  going  to  see  a  business  man,'  I  says, '  and  you've 
got  to  be  business-like.  You've  got  to  come  straight  to 
the  point,  Peter.  You've  got  to  introduce  your  facts  in 
logical  succession  so  that  your  meaning  will  be  apparent 
to  the  most  unintelligent  listener.'  Beg  your  pardon, 
sir;  of  course  not  referring  to  you.  And  it  was  just  at  that 
moment  that  I  caught  sight  of  '  Old  Glory,'  floating  on  the 
summer  air  above  these  mighty  mills  of  modern  progress. 
That  sight  thrilled  me  to  the  core,  sir,  and  I  says  to  myself, 
'  Peter,'  says  I, '  it's  a  glorious  thought,  a  thought  winged 
with  hope,  yes  sir,  winged  with  hope  for  future  genera- 
tions, that  the  humble  toilers  of  our  land  day  after  day 
labor  under  the  shadow  of  that  fadeless,  star-spangled 
banner.'" 

Gilbert  sat  down  at  his  desk,  a  smile  of  surrender  about 
his  mouth,  and  offered  Mr.  Lumpkin  a  cigar. 

"And  now  what's  the  news,  Lumpkin?"  he  asked,  while 
the  night-lunch  man  bit  off  the  end  of  the  cigar. 

"I  was  just  coming  to  that."     Mr.  Lumpkin  was  busy 


166  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

with  a  match  now.  When  the  cigar  was  aUght  he  leaned 
forward  and,  after  looking  cautiously  about,  went  on  in  a 
loud  whisper,  '*  It  may  not  be  of  the  greatest  importance, 
sir,  but  the  Honorable  Mr.  Strutt's  gone  out  of  town." 

"  I  saw  that  in  the  paper  last  night,"  returned  Gilbert 
quickly.    "Gone  to  Marblehead." 

Mr.  Lumpkin  nodded,  and,  after  another  hasty  glance 
about  the  room,  he  whispered: 

"You're  right,  sir,  always  right.  That's  precisely  and 
completely  what  the  papers  said.  But  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Strutt's  son  did  me  the  honor  last  night  of  patron- 
izing the  viands  which  I  prepare  for  the  public,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  a  chicken  sandwich  and  a  bottle  of  ginger  pop. 
And  incidentally,  quite  by  the  way,  you  understand,  he 
remarked  to  one  of  his  friends  that  his  father,  the  Honor- 
able Mr.  Strutt,  left  last  night  for  Albany,  Pittsfield, 
Springfield  and  Marblehead." 

Gilbert  jumped  to  his  feet.  Before  Mr.  Lumpkin  could 
continue,  he  was  at  the  telephone  calling  one  of  his  assist- 
ants. He  must  go  out  of  town  immediately,  Mr.  Lump- 
kin heard  him  say,  for  two  or  three  days.  Then  followed 
a  number  of  rapid  orders  for  the  work  to  be  done  while  he 
was  away.  Hanging  up  the  receiver,  he  rang  for  a  mes- 
senger. Then  he  sat  down  again  and  wrote  an  even  half 
dozen  telegrams,  finishing  them  just  as  the  boy  arrived. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  lunch-cart  man. 

"Excuse  me,  Lumpkin.  This  is  important.  Great 
hurry.     Bully  good  of  you." 

Mr.  Lumpkin  rose;  his  chest  with  the  bird's-egg  blue  tie 
puffed  forth  with  pride  and  joy. 

"That,  sir,"  he  said,  "warms  the  cockles  of  my  heart. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  167 

It  was  such  a  trifle,  you  see,  that  I  wasn't  going  to  bother 
you  at  first,  and  then  I  says  to  myself,  *  Peter,'  I  says, 
*  Joe  said  anything  about  those  four  men  and  the " 

"Thanks,  thanks,"  broke  in  Gilbert  impatiently,  as  he 
hurried  Peter  out.    "I'll  see  you  when  I  come  back." 

Gilbert  took  the  noon  train  for  Pittsfield.  He  had 
wired  to  all  the  stockholders  in  Albany  as  well  as  to  the 
Colonel.  The  Albany  people  would  keep  Mr.  Strutt  busy 
all  day,  and  the  telegrams  would  at  least  make  them  slower 
to  decide.  The  longer  they  delayed  the  lawyer  in  Albany 
the  better  start  Gilbert  would  have  in  Pittsfield  and 
Springfield.  It  was  the  Honorable  Mr.  Strutt 's  first  open 
activity,  but  Gilbert  had  been  watching  him,  convinced 
that  sooner  or  later  the  clever,  pompous  little  lawyer 
would  take  a  hand,  and  no  uncertain  hand,  in  the  struggle. 
He  was  the  legal  representative  of  all  the  Hubbard  inter- 
ests. His  appearance  had  alone  been  needed  to  assure 
Gilbert  and  the  Colonel  that,  behind  the  stock  buying  and 
the  snap  meeting  of  directors,  was  the  hidden  quiet  direc- 
tion of  Alonzo  Hubbard  and  the  hoard  of  Hubbard  dollars. 
Gilbert  wondered,  as  he  sat  in  the  train,  whether  any  more 
stock  was  changing  hands.  Hardy  stock  was  cheap,  but 
it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  tried  to  put  himself  in  the  oppo- 
sition's place,  that  with  control  gained  at  the  September 
meeting  they  could  make  it  cheaper.  That  was  a  bridge, 
at  any  rate,  to  which,  as  far  as  he  had  heard,  he  had  not 
come.  Down  in  his  heart,  however,  he  felt  that,  if  Hub- 
bard started  seriously  to  buy  a  majority  of  the  stock,  it 
would  make  a  bridge  that  neither  he  nor  any  of  those 
associated  with  him  could  cross. 

There  were  only  three  stockholders  in  Pittsfield,  and. 


168  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

late  that  night,  Gilbert  boarded  a  train  for  Springfield 
with  two  proxies  in  his  pocket.  The  third  man  was  out 
of  town  and  Gilbert  had  no  time  to  wait  for  him.  Strutt 
would  be  there  in  the  morning.  Incidentally  Jack  had 
learned  a  new  phase  of  the  Hubbard  campaign.  He  had 
in  his  pocket  a  typewritten,  confidential  circular.  The 
statements  of  this  circular,  accompanied  by  figures,  and 
figures  which  he  knew  to  be  comparatively  accurate, 
were  strong  enough  to  convince  almost  any  outside  stock- 
holder that  Hardy  &  Son  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin.  The 
man  who  had  given  it  to  Gilbert  had  said  frankly  that  he 
had  lost  all  hope  of  his  stock  ever  again  having  any  value. 
Gilbert  was  already  framing  in  his  mind  an  answering 
statement,  which  he  determined  should  go  to  all  the 
stockholders  as  quickly  after  his  return  to  Hampstead  as 
press  could  print  it.  But  he  scarcely  hoped  that  it  would 
counteract  the  first  effect  of  the  other  circular.  He  felt 
his  own  ignorance  and  lack  of  skill  against  so  versatile 
and  perfectly  trained  an  opposition.  And  he  went  to  bed 
that  night,  tired  and  discouraged. 

There  were  seven  men  to  see  in  Springfield,  and  one  held 
a  larger  amount  of  stock  than  the  other  six.  When,  after 
waiting  an  hour  in  an  outer  office,  Gilbert  finally  met  this 
man,  it  was  only  to  learn  that  the  proxy  had  been  signed 
and  sent  to  Mr.  Brett  that  very  morning.  The  man  was 
positive  that  it  had  been  sent,  but  he  gave  Gilbert  per- 
mission to  search  the  general  mail-bag,  on  the  chance  that 
the  letter  might  still  be  in  the  office.  And,  after  sorting 
and  re-sorting  hundreds  of  letters.  Jack,  with  a  thrill  of 
triumph,  brought  forth  a  blue  envelope  with  the  familiar 
address.     A  new  proxy  was  made  out,  and  Gilbert,  heed- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  169 

less  of  luncheon,  went  out  to  find  the  remaining  six.  He 
made  another  discovery  that  afternoon.  One  proxy  had 
been  sent  to  "the  president."  Evidently  Mr.  Hardy  was 
fighting  alone.  Gilbert  pitied  the  obstinate  "old  man," 
as  he  thought  of  the  lonely  struggle. 

When  he  reached  the  Springfield  station,  nearly  a  half 
hour  before  his  train  to  Hampstead  was  due,  he  had 
three  new  proxies  in  his  pocket.  The  other  two,  he  knew 
now,  had  already  gone  to  the  other  side.  The  drizzling 
rain,  through  which  he  had  been  plodding  all  day,  still  fell 
from  the  lead-colored  twilight  sky.  The  air  in  the  waiting- 
room  was  close  and  hot,  and  he  strolled  up  and  down  on 
the  covered  platform.  Weary  as  he  was  from  unaccus- 
tomed travel  and  irregular  hours,  there  was  real  exhilara- 
tion in  his  heart  and  in  his  smiling  eyes  and  even  in  his 
long  jerky  steps  as  he  tramped  up  and  down.  An  east- 
bound  train  rattled  in  and  unloaded  groups  of  passengers, 
but  he  scarcely  noticed  it.  Reaching  the  end  of  the  plat- 
form, he  wheeled  to  continue  his  monotonous  walk,  when 
he  found  himself  suddenly  face  to  face  with  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Strutt,  hurrying,  bag  in  hand,  toward  the  street  exit. 
For  a  moment  the  two  stared  at  each  other  with  uncon- 
cealed surprise.  Then  Gilbert  smiled  and  nodded  gravely 
and  started  to  pass  the  ex-Congressman.  Mr.  Strutt  put 
down  his  bag  and  turned. 

"Gilbert,"  he  called. 

Jack  faced  him  and  waited  quietly. 

"Nasty  day,"  volunteered  Mr.  Strutt,  bowing  pleas- 
antly and  rubbing  his  hands  together — "  washing  his  hands 
with  invisible  soap  and  water,"  as  Billy  described  it. 

Gilbert  assented.     Mr.  Strutt  drew  a  cigar  case  from 


170  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

his  pocket  and,  opening  it,  offered  it  to  Gilbert,  who  com- 
pleted the  dumb  show  by  displaying  the  half-smoked 
cigar  in  his  hand. 

"Up  here  on  business?"  queried  Mr.  Strutt  in  his  most 
suave  and  genial  manner.  Gilbert^s  drawling  answer  was 
concise : 

"I  came  to  get  exactly  what  you're  after,  and  IVe  got 
it.     Did  my  telegrams  block  you  at  Albany?" 

Mr.  Strutt  smiled  deprecatingly  at  his  frankness. 

"Not  entirely,  but  I'll  admit  they  hurt  me.  In  fact, 
I'll  admit  that  you've  beaten  me  all  along  the  line."  Mr. 
Strutt's  tone  suggested  that  he  was  conferring  a  great 
favor  on  his  young  friend  by  the  admission. 

"That's  good  hearing,"  Gilbert  responded  heartily. 

"Gilbert,"  continued  Mr.  Strutt,  after  a  short  pause 
during  which  the  lawyer  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot 
to  the  other,  giving  his  small  body  a  swinging  pendulum 
movement,  "  I'm  delighted  to  have  found  you  here.  I've 
wanted  to  talk  to  you.  I  should  like  to  say — if  I  can  say 
it  without  being  misunderstood — that  I  have  conceived 
an  admiration  for  you.  You  may  not  realize  it — young 
men  of  ability  seldom  do, — but  you  have  been  attracting 
attention." 

Mr.  Strutt  ceased  his  swinging  and  watched  the  big, 
irregular  face.  He  scowled  slightly  when  Gilbert  did  not 
take  advantage  of  the  pause  to  thank  him  for  his  good 
opinion.  Any  gentleman  or  any  man  of  tact  could  not 
have  done  less,  it  seemed  to  the  punctilious  lawyer. 

"You  have  even  interested  so  keen  a  judge  of  character 
as  Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard,"  went  on  Mr.  Strutt.  "Quite 
confidentially,  of  course,  he  remarked  to  me  the  other 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  171 

day  that  he  needed  a  man  hke  you  at  exactly  double  the 
salary  you  are  receiving  at  present.  He  even  mentioned 
your  name.  He  wants  a  man  to  correlate  and  manage 
all  his  mills.  It's  a  big  job,  but  you  can  have  it  by  a 
word." 

''Double  the  salary.^'  The  idea  dazed  Gilbert  for  a 
moment.  With  that  he  could  pay  off  all  the  remaining 
debts  in  a  year  and  a  half.  He  could  make  everything 
easier  for  his  mother.  Mr.  Strutt  saw  his  momentary 
advantage. 

"I  think  something  might  be  arranged  also,"  he  added 
smoothly,  "about  some  stock,  and  perhaps  an  official  posi- 
tion of  some  sort — say,  assistant  secretary  or  a  director- 
ship. You  can  see  that  Mr.  Hubbard  fully  realizes  your 
value  and  is  ready  to  pay  for  it.  He  seems  to  have  taken 
a  great  liking  to  you." 

Double  the  salary;  an  infinitely  surer  position;  a  larger, 
more  important,  work  to  do!  Each  of  these  attracted 
John  Gilbert.  He  owed  no  loyalty  to  Sam  Hardy  now. 
The  Colonel,  if  he  were  there,  would  undoubtedly  tell  him 
to  take  the  offer.  He  wavered  and  Mr.  Strutt,  watching 
silently  the  signs  of  the  inward  struggle,  smiled  and  rubbed 
his  hands  together  softly  and  said  to  himself  that  a  young 
man  can  almost  always  be  trapped  by  an  appeal  to  his 
ambition.  At  last  Gilbert,  with  a  long  breath  that  was 
almost  a  sigh,  looked  squarely  down  into  Mr.  Strutt's  eyes. 

"I  don't  care  to  consider  your  suggestion,"  he  said 
shortly,  and  started  to  turn  away.  Mr.  Strutt's  open 
surprise  and  disappointment  made  him  forget  his  crafti- 
ness and  his  carefully  chosen  words. 

"Look  here,  Gilbert,"  he  said  hurriedly.    "It's  a  cer- 


172  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

tainty  for  an  uncertainty.  You're  fighting  us  now.  For 
the  Ufe  of  me  I  can't  see  why.  Hardy's  against  us  both. 
That  means  you  can't  get  control  without  us."  A  sharp 
exclamation  from  Gilbert  checked  him  for  a  moment.  '*  I 
supposed  you  knew  that.  I'm  talking  frankly.  I  don't 
want  to  see  you  make  the  mistake  of  your  life.  And  I'll 
tell  you  another  thing.  If  we  don't  control  that  meeting 
we'll  win  afterwards." 

Gilbert  imderstood  it  all  suddenly.  He  was  a  conceited 
fool  not  to  have  seen  it  in  the  beginning,  he  said  to  him- 
self. They  didn't  want  him.  They  merely  wanted  to 
put  him  out  of  their  way.  And  by  that,  they  showed 
openly  that  he  was  in  their  way,  that  they  were  feel- 
ing his  opposition. 

"Go  ahead  and  win,"  he  said  slowly,  "if  you  can." 

"That  means  that  you " 

"  I'm  going  to  do  all  I  can  to  stop  you." 

Mr.  Strutt  picked  up  his  bag. 

"I'll  hold  the  offer  open  for  a  week,"  he  remarked  con- 
ciliatingly. 

"You  needn't.     I  don't  want  it." 

Mr.  Strutt  stared  after  him  as  he  walked  slowly  away, 
and  the  face  of  the  Honorable  ex-Congressman  dropped 
its  genial  mask.  The  look  of  it  for  that  second  promised 
no  good  to  the  broad-shouldered  young  man  strolling  un- 
concernedly down  the  platform.  Mr.  Strutt  was  accus- 
tomed to  having  his  way.  He  was  decidedly  unused  to 
being  treated  cavalierly  by  a  young  upstart  whom  cir- 
cumstances had  forced  him  to  approach.  And  Mr. 
Strutt's  enmity  was  not  a  thing  to  be  scorned. 

As  the  train  hurried  down  along  the  river  bank  Gilbert 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  173 

scoffed  at  himself  for  his  first  hesitation.  He  realized, 
however,  that  his  own  weakness,  curiously  enough,  had 
done  him  a  service.  He  had  learned  that  the  Hubbard 
forces  controlled  enough  stock  already  to  win  if  they,  by 
any  chance,  obtained  Sam  Hardy's  help.  He  knew,  also, 
that  it  was  to  be  a  fight  to  the  finish  with  them.  He  knew 
how  hopelessly  the  odds  were  against  him  in  that  fight. 
He  felt  something  of  that  relentless  hand  that  was  behind 
it  all,  always  hidden  but  always  directing,  the  hand  of 
that  silent  Mr.  Hubbard,  whom  few  knew  and  whom 
everyone  respected.  Then,  as  he  stared  into  the  growing 
darkness  beyond  the  dirty  car  windows,  he  saw  the  hun- 
dreds of  men  toiling  through  the  rattle  and  smoke  and 
grime  of  the  Hardy  mills,  and  admitted  to  himself  shame- 
facedly that  he  and  another  man  had  been  bartering  over 
their  future  and  Sam  Hardy's,  the  grim,  intolerant  "old 
man"  whom  he  was  trying  to  save.  Then  the  picture 
vanished  before  a  tall,  slender,  girlish  figure.  And  he 
loathed  himself  for  his  indecision  and  his  selfishness,  and 
told  her  so  humbly  a  dozen  times  as  he  lay  back  wearily 
on  the  cushioned  seat. 

Gilbert  thought  that  his  mother  knew  almost  nothing 
of  the  real  struggle  at  the  shops.  He  was  certain  that  he 
had  never  told  her.  He  did  not  realize  that,  with  a 
woman's  strategy,  she  had  drawn  from  him,  little  by  little, 
many  fragments  of  information  which  she  had  later  pieced 
together  carefully  until  she  understood  the  meaning  of 
each  one  and  of  the  whole.  Sometimes  he  had  seen  a  look  of 
shrewd  satisfaction  about  her  mouth,  and  he  had  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  had  been  led  into  an  admission  he  had 
not  intended  to  make.    But  these  were  little  things,  and 


174  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  had  been  amused  at  her  curiosity.  Her  first  question, 
therefore,  when  he  reached  home  that  night,  made  him 
regard  her  with  frank  amazement.  It  was  about  the 
proxies. 

'*How  do  you  know  anything  about  that?''  he  asked 
almost  sharply.     His  mother  laughed. 

"  You  told  me  near  a  month  ago,  but  you  did  not  know 
it.  You'll  find  out  in  time,  laddie,  that  it's  better  to  tell 
a  Scotch  woman  everything  than  to  let  her  guess.  She'll 
know  less  in  the  end." 

"There  isn't  anything  for  you  to  worry  about." 

"  Worry?"  Mrs.  Gilbert  jerked  her  head  back  proudly. 
"And  why  should  I  worry,  with  you  straight  and  strong 
like  that?  No,  no.  Have  your  fling.  It's  a  good  one, 
and  a  right  one,  and  like  you.  I  pray  the  good  Lord 
every  night  that  I  mayn't  be  too  proud  of  you." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  mother." 

"I'll  talk  as  I  please." 

They  were  both  laughing  when  the  Colonel  arrived, 
growling  about  his  interrupted  vacation  but  eager  to  hear 
the  news.  And  Mrs.  Gilbert  left  the  two  men  to  talk 
business.     It  was  after  midnight  when  the  Colonel  left. 

"Did  you  land  Tubb?"  asked  Gilbert  at  the  door. 

"Saw  him  to-day.  He's  backin'  and  fillin'  a  hull  lot. 
Reckon  he  smells  oats  in  the  other  direction.  Says  he'll 
tell  me  certain,  Saturday.  He's  one  o'  those  men  thet 
wants  ye  to  like  him  more'n  most  anybody  else,  but  is 
alluz  afraid  thet  the  other  feller'll  dislike  him  if  ye  do. 
He  shakes  hands  an'  tells  stories  an'  agrees  with  ye  till  ye 
want  to  fight.  But  he  ain't  got  a  good  healthy  'yes'  er 
'no'  in  his  constitution." 


CHAPTER   XI 

AN   UNEXPECTED    CONFERENCE 

UNCERTAINTY  and  delay  worried  Billy  McNish. 
When  he  could  act  on  impulse  he  was  more  often 
right  than  wrong.  Given  an  unexpected  case  at 
the  last  moment,  and  he  would  stir  the  most  indifferent 
judge  and  jury  with  brilliant  pleading.  Called  upon  for 
impromptu  remarks  at  a  dinner,  he  would  make  the  hap- 
piest, wittiest  speech  of  the  evening.  He  might  have  been 
a  hero  in  any  sudden  moment  of  danger,  if  there  were  peo- 
ple nearby  to  watch  the  deed.  He  might  have  led  any 
spectacular,  forlorn  hope  the  fates  flung  in  his  way.  But 
waiting  weakened  his  decision.  He  brooded  and  grew 
suspicious  and  changed  his  mind  a  dozen  times  in  an  hour. 
An  intricate,  long-drawn-out  case  at  law  would  be  begun 
with  optimistic  enthusiasm,  only  to  be  ended  in 'pessi- 
mistic, half-hearted  endeavor.  A  carefully  prepared 
speech  usually  made  his  days  and  nights  immediately 
preceding  the  event  a  torment  of  foreboding  misery.  He 
would  be  utterly  dissatisfied  with  it  long  before  it  was 
delivered.  And  if  a  thing  had  to  be  reasoned  out,  he  in- 
variably looked  at  it  from  so  many  different  angles  that 
the  longer  he  thought  about  it  the  more  confused  he 
became. 

When  he  had  asked  Clare  Hardy  to  marry  him,  nearly  a 
year  before^  he  had  almost  taken  her  by  storm.    But  since 

175 


176  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  had  found  that  his  love-making  must  become  a  long, 
arduous  campaign  he  had  lost  much  of  his  dash,  much  of 
his  insistence,  much  of  his  confidence.  Then  he  had 
thought  only  of  his  love  for  her.  Now  he  planned  speeches 
that  he  never  made  to  her,  and  stratagems  that  he  never 
used.  He  swore  roundly  that  he  would  not  see  her  for  a 
fortnight.  He  would  pique  her  curiosity.  And  then, 
somehow,  he  forgot  about  it  and  called  three  times  a  week 
as  usual,  and  saw  her  on  all  the  intermediate  days.  He 
told  himself  that  she  was  a  flirt  and  then  dangled,  tem- 
porarily content,  at  the  end  of  her  string.  And  now, 
after  a  year,  she  seemed  as  desirable  and  as  far  away  from 
him  as  ever. 

His  new  political  ambitions  had  a  similar  history.  He 
had  opened  the  subject  to  Mr.  Moriarty  with  perfect  as- 
surance that  the  little  Irishman  would  share  his  enthu- 
siasm. He  had  not  for  a  moment  dreamed  that  Moriarty 
would  be  blind  to  this  opportunity  of  overcoming  the 
usually  small  Republican  majority.  Billy  knew  his  own 
popularity,  and  he  threw  himself  into  his  preliminary 
personal  canvass  eagerly.  At  night  he  often  lay  for  hours, 
picturing  to  himself  the  night  of  the  caucus,  the  crowded 
room,  the  absurd  dignity  of  the  chairman,  the  good- 
humored  shouts  of  the  mass,  and  then  his  unanimous 
nomination  and  the  burst  of  applause  as  he  took  the 
stage.  And  he  saw  himself,  handsome,  graceful,  holding 
che  audience  in  the  spell  of  his  oratory,  and  heard  his 
own  thrilling  words,  and  applauded  as  he  fell  off  to  sleep. 
At  other  times  it  was  the  night  of  his  election,  and  the 
entire  town  came  to  serenade  him,  and  again  he  spoke, 
this  time  a  simple,  modest  speech  of  gratitude  and  with  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  177 

deep  sense  of  his  high  responsibilities;  and  the  men  shook 
hands  with  him  afterwards  and  called  him  the  next  gov- 
ernor. But  now  these  visions  had  become  old  and  dim, 
and  he  lay  awake  thinking  and  doubting,  for  over  them 
hung  the  awkward  shadow  of  John  Gilbert,  his  friend. 

When  he  had  first  heard  that  Gilbert  was  a  candidate  he 
had  impulsively  disbelieved  it,  but  the  more  he  thought 
about  it  and  brooded  over  it  the  more  doubtful  and  sus- 
picious he  became.  Similarly  when  Mr.  Hardy  told  him 
of  Gilbert's  disloyalty  at  the  shops,  he  shook  his  head 
vigorously  and  declared  that  it  was  incredible.  He  knew 
Sam  Hardy's  temper.  He  knew  that  Sam  Hardy  was 
unwell,  that  he  was  in  just  the  condition  to  magnify  a 
mole  hill  into  a  mountain.  That  very  night  he  had  dined 
at  the  Hardys',  and  "the  old  man,"  nervously  complain- 
ing of  dizziness,  had  left  the  table  in  the  middle  of  dinner, 
much  to  Mrs.  Hardy's  openly  expressed  irritation.  And 
yet,  as  the  days  and  weeks  followed,  he  moodily  argued 
himself  into  Mr.  Hardy's  point  of  view.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  as  "the  old  man"  had  said,  "Jack  was  ambitious 
enough  to  do  anything  or  anybody." 

During  the  last  two  weeks  of  August  Hampstead  toiled 
on,  gasping  and  sweating  in  the  grip  of  the  "dog  days," 
which  hung  invisible  weights  on  hurrying  feet,  and  made 
brains  run  slow  and  tempers  fast.  One  stifling  night,  a 
week  or  ten  days  after  Gilbert's  flying  trip  to  Pittsfield 
and  Springfield,  Billy  McNish  sat  smoking  on  the  veranda 
steps  of  the  big  house.  At  dinner  an  impulse  had  come  to 
him  to  see  Jack  and  "have  it  out,"  but  unfortunately  the 
combined  restfulness  of  a  good  dinner  and  a  good  cigar 
made  him  delay,  and  delay  made  him  hesitate.     He 


178  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

would  be  showing  his  hand,  he  argued,  if  Gilbert  was 
really  working  against  him.  He  recalled  that  they  had 
not  seen  each  other  in  nearly  a  month.  Impulse  told  him 
that  Gilbert  was  very  busy  and  that  his  own  attitude, 
the  last  time  they  had  met,  had  not  been  particularly  in- 
viting. As  he  thought,  however,  he  felt  that  Jack  had 
purposely  slighted  him.  It  was  scarcely  up  to  him  to 
make  any  overtures. 

The  moon  already  threw  a  broad  pathway  of  light  be- 
fore him,  when  he  rose  dejectedly  and  walked  around  to 
Mr.  Hardy's  front  door.  No,  Miss  Hardy  had  gone  out, 
the  maid  said,  and  would  not  be  back  until  late  in  the 
evening.  Of  course  she  was  out.  It  was  just  his  luck. 
Billy  stood  for  a  moment  hesitatingly  at  the  gate  and 
then,  still  undecided,  he  walked  on  up  the  hill.  Perhaps 
something  would  turn  up.  Perhaps  Jack  would  come  out 
and  they  might  meet  naturally.  When  in  doubt  Billy  had 
a  way  of  leaving  things  to  chance.  As  he  came  to  the 
little  house  which  the  Gilberts  occupied,  he  saw  that  the 
door  was  open,  and  he  stopped  short  as  he  recognized 
the  huge  figure  lounging,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  against 
the  door  jamb.  Two  other  men  stood  in  the  shadow,  be- 
yond the  edge  of  the  light  thrown  by  the  lamp  within. 
Almost  upon  the  moment  that  Billy  stopped,  he  heard 
familiar  explosive  laughter;  the  big  figure  straightened, 
turned  its  back  and  went  in,  and  the  two  men  came  down 
the  path  talking  rapidly.  Billy,  not  caring  to  meet  them, 
passed  the  gate  quickly,  his  face  averted.  Then  he  walked 
slowly  as  he  heard  the  voice  of  Mr.  Moriarty. 

"'Tis  a  sure  thing  Brett'll  run  agin,  and  runnin'  anny- 
wan  but  Jawn  Gilbert  against  him  'Id  be  like  trottin' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  179 

Flanagan's  mule  against  Major  Delmar  wid  a  wind- 
shield." 

"  Y'ain't  goin'  to  run  anybody  else/'  answered  Colonel 
Mead,  ''so  don't  disturb  the  mule.'' 

They  turned  down  the  street,  and  Billy  started  impetu- 
ously after  them.  He  stopped  by  the  gate.  There  was 
nothing  that  he  could  say  to  them.  He  looked  down  over 
the  terraced  roofs  of  the  houses  below  him.  The  town 
lay  resting  from  its  day's  work,  glorified  in  the  mellow 
radiance  of  the  moon.  A  wave  of  self-pity  swept  over 
him.  He  was  not  to  be  even  the  candidate  for  mayor. 
What  a  failure  he  was,  after  all!  He  wondered  what 
Clare  Hardy  would  think.  No  woman  could  care  for  a 
failure,  he  told  himself  bitterly.  Success  was  what 
counted,  never  mind  what  it  cost.  A  new  plan  came  to 
him.  He  would  be  chivalrous.  He  would  withdraw 
without  a  word  of  complaint.  He  would  show  her  the 
difference  between  an  unselfish  chap,  who  was  willing  to 
sacrifice  for  his  friend,  and  the  friend,  who  thought  only 
of  personal,  selfish  reward.  But,  as  he  walked  down  the 
street,  his  old  ambition  returned,  and  he  declared  to  him- 
self melodramatically  that  he  would  fight  to  the  last 
ditch,  if  he  had  only  one  vote  at  the  caucus,  and  that  vote 
his  own.  He  knew  as  he  said  it  that  he  did  not  mean  it. 
Poor  Billy!  He  could  not  have  told  anyone  what  he 
really  meant  that  night.  He  had  never  in  his  life  sunk 
so  deep  into  the  mire  of  complete  despair. 

Gilbert  had  asked  Mr.  Moriarty  and  the  Colonel  to 
dinner  that  night.  The  shops  were  rounding  themselves 
into  shape.  The  new  rooms  were  almost  completed  and 
a  number  of  the  new  machines  were  already  installed. 


180  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

He  had  accomplished  as  much  as  he  had  expected  in  the 
time.  The  work  was  more  than  half  done,  and  the  re- 
mainder would  come  along  more  easily.  The  first  great 
rush  was  over.  Hardy  &  Son  was  ready  to  meet  the  com- 
petition of  the  Fall  trade.  They  had  new  improvements 
on  the  lines  of  goods  which  the  Westbury  concern  made, 
and  they  were  able  now  to  manufacture  them  more 
cheaply,  he  felt  certain,  than  their  rivals.  He  was  giving 
more  of  his  time,  therefore,  to  the  fight  for  the  stock. 
The  meeting  and  the  crisis  were  only  a  fortnight  away. 
Mr.  Moriarty  still  held  some  Hardy  stock,  he  under- 
stood,— stock  that  dated  back  to  Moriarty's  period  of  ser- 
vice as  superintendent  of  the  growing  mills.  And  that 
was  the  reason  that  the  little  Irishman  and  the  Colonel 
dined  with  the  Gilberts  that  night. 

It  was  not  until  the  three  men  were  sitting  in  the  little 
library  after  dinner,  with  cigars  and  the  Colonel's  pipe 
alight,  that  Gilbert  came  to  the  point. 

"Moriarty,"  he  said  bluntly,  "we  want  the  vote  of 
your  Hardy  stock  at  the  annual  meeting.  You  don't 
like  Sam  Hardy  and  I  can't  blame  you,  but  we  want  to 
vote  your  stock  for  him — for  the  good  of  the  shops." 

Mr.  Moriarty  nodded  reflectively,  and  deflected  his  cigar 
from  its  acute  angle,  at  which  the  lighted  end  had  been 
threateningly  close  to  his  left  eye. 

"  Twas  a  dirrty  trick  he  done."  Then  the  thin,  smooth- 
shaven  lips  wrinkled  in  a  smile.  "But  'tis  the  chip  on 
his  shoulder  that  makes  me  mad.  'Tis  always  there  and 
I  always  want  to  knock  it  off." 

"Oh,  I'll  admit  that  Hardy  looks  at  life  as  a  long  bridge 
over  a  chasm.     He  thinks  there's  room  for  only  one  on 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  181 

that  bridge,  and  to  get  across  he's  got  to  knock  everybody 
else  off.  But  that  isn't  the  point.  We  want  to  vote  your 
stock  for  the  good  of  your  stock  and  of  everybody's  else 
stock." 

Mr.  Moriarty  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully  during  a  long 
pause.  Moriarty  had  been  accused  of  many  things  but 
never,  even  by  his  bitterest  opponents,  of  uttering  an  ill- 
considered  word. 

"There  seems  to  be  somethin'  doin'  wid  Hardy  stock," 
he  remarked  with  an  air  of  solemn  conviction. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  Oi  said  Oi'd  not  talk  about  it  and  Oi'll  not," 
Moriarty  hesitated  impressively,  "but  Oi'll  tell  ye  confi- 
dentially, because  y'are  who  y'are,  that  Oi  sold  my  stock 
a  week  ago  to  His  Honor  the  Mayor.  'Twas  not  much  I 
got,  but  'twas  more  than  Oi  expected." 

"Sold  it?"  ejaculated  the  Colonel  and  Gilbert  in  unison. 

"If  that's  what  ye  had  me  up  here  for,"  went  on  Mr. 
Moriarty  with  deliberate  emphasis,  "ye  lose.  'Tis  good 
money  against  expectations,  and  expectations  don't  buy 
potatoes  or  coal.  But  ye  needn't  worry  about  that.  Ye 
needn't  worry  at  all."  Mr.  Moriarty  leaned  forward  and 
lowered  his  voice  with  the  awe  he  felt  for  his  own  news. 
"For  ye're  goin'  to  be  His  Honor  the  Mayor  yerself  in 
October.  And  that,"  he  added,  with  an  almost  defiant 
triumph,  "is  what  Oi  had  mesilf  up  here  for." 

Gilbert  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Don't  scare  me  to  death,  Moriarty.  What's  the 
joke?" 

"  'Tis  no  joke."     The  Irishman's  tone  was  resentful. 

"  'Tain't  possible,"  cried  the  Colonel,  who  in  his  excite- 


182  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

ment  had  risen  and  stood  facing  Mr.  Moriarty,  "thet  the 
folks  o'  this  town  actooly  want  a  man  with  red  blood  in 
him  an*  muscles  in  his  brains,  fer  mayor." 

"They  want  him  all  right,"  answered  Moriarty,  jerking 
his  thumb  toward  Gilbert,  "but  they  don't  know  it  and 
Oi  do."  He  thumped  his  breast  vigorously  with  his  sec- 
ond finger. 

"But  kin  ye  round  'em  up  to  nominate  him?" 

"Oi  hov  the  caucus  in  here."  The  Irishman  stuck  his 
stubby  forefinger  in  his  vest  pocket. 

"What  hev  ye  got  in  th'other  pocket?"  the  Colonel 
asked  without  a  smile.  "Ef  it's  the  election  we'll  con- 
sider the  proposition.  I  alluz  thought  caucuses  an' 
elections  was  almighty  triflin'  things,  but  I  didn't  expect 
to  find  'em  travelin'  round  in  the  pockets  of  a  red-headed, 
pug-nosed  Irishman  like  you,  Moriarty." 

Gilbert  broke  in  before  Moriarty  could  retort. 

"You  seem  to  have  me  nominated  and  elected  between 
you,"  he  drawled.  "  This  whole  thing's  nonsense.  First, 
because  I  haven't  time;  second,  because  Billy  McNish  is  a 
better  man  for  it  than  I  am  and  Billy  wants  it.  I  don't 
know  any  more  about  politics  than  the  Colonel  does. 
And  the  Colonel's  clean  forgotten  that  he's  usually  a  Re- 
publican and  we're  Democrats." 

"Reckon  I  kin  hold  in  my  patriotic  principles  till  after 
you're  elected,"  muttered  the  Colonel. 

With  that,  Mr.  Moriarty  began  to  talk.  It  was  not 
easy,  flowing,  high-soimding  talk.  Nobody  ever  heard 
Moriarty  make  a  speech.  He  said  that  he  didn't  know 
how,  and  that  he'd  never  found  need  of  it  in  his  business. 
No,  it  was  jerky  short-arm  talk,  that  gradually  grew  stag- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  183 

gering  in  its  accumulation  of  terse  arguments.  He  had 
past  elections  at  his  tongue's  end.  He  had  the  results  of 
a  quiet,  indefinite  canvass  he  had  made,  written  out  for 
them  to  read.  He  had  hypothetical  figures  for  the  vote 
of  every  ward,  and  proved  circumstantially  that  they 
would  become  facts  on  election  day.  He  had  the  rest  of 
the  ticket  up  for  inspection  down  to  the  smallest  council- 
man. 

''Ye're  young,"  he  added,  beating  each  point  home 
with  his  fist  on  his  knee.  "That's  what  they  want  these 
days.  Ye're  honest.  Iverywan  knows  that.  Ye're  a 
good  union  man — the  fact'ry  men  loike  that;  and  a  good 
baseball  player — and  that  don't  hurt  ye  a  bit."  Gilbert 
laughed  outright  at  this,  but  the  Irishman  shook  his  finger 
at  him  warningly.  "That's  all  right.  There's  manny  a 
man  been  ilicted  to  higher  office  for  less  than  pitchin'  a 
good  game  o'  ball.  Nobody's  got  it  in  for  ye.  The 
oulder  men  that  remimber  the  Doctor — God  rest  his  soul 
— will  vote  for  ye,  Raypublicans  and  Dimmycrats.  There 
now.  'Tis  the  duty  av  anny  man  to  run  if  he's  wanted. 
And  ye're  wanted." 

Politics  were  primitively  patriotic  to  Moriarty.  He 
worked  hard  for  the  good  of  his  ticket.  He  bossed  his 
caucuses  with  an  iron  hand,  partly  because  the  people 
trusted  him  and  partly  because  there  was  no  one  else 
willing  to  give  up  so  much  time  to  it.  And  Moriarty's 
Hibernian  soul  loved  the  power  of  it.  That  was  his  only 
reward.  He  seldom  won  anything  except  an  extra 
councilman  this  year  or  an  extra  alderman  next.  The 
Republicans  had  controlled  the  town  for  years.  He  hon- 
estly believed  that  he  could  elect  John  Gilbert  mayor. 


184  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

But  Gilbert  did  not  argue  with  him,  and  Gilbert  seemed 
to  hang  tightly  to  his  first  excuses:  lack  of  time  and  the 
candidacy  of  Alderman  McNish.  Mr.  Moriarty,  there- 
fore, shrewdly  dropped  the  discussion  and  started  for 
home.     At  the  door  he  stopped  for  a  last  word: 

"Think  it  over,  Jack,"  he  said.  "Think  it  over,  me 
boy.  Oi  won't  ask  ye  for  a  decision  to-night.  'Tis  too 
sudden,  but  'tis  worth  considerin'.  The  honor  av  it  is 
somethin'  and  the  opporchunity  is  somethin'.  Oi  think 
ye'll  go  far — farther  perhaps  than  Oi  think." 

The  Colonel  interrupted  him,  laying  his  hand  on  Mori- 
arty's  shoulder. 

"  His  hair  may  look  like  a  prairie  sunset,"  he  said,  wink- 
ing at  Gilbert,  "  an'  his  nose  mayn't  be  much  to  get  a  hold 
of,  but  he  ain't  tongue-tied.  Pardner,"  he  went  on,  turn- 
ing to  the  gaping  little  Irishman,  "I  thought  I'd  heard 
folks  'at  could  shoot  off  their  mouth,  but  you're  the  only 
real,  genuwine,  fourteen-carat,  honest  an'  no  imitation, 
Al  word  slinger  I  ever  met." 

Gilbert  laughed  heartily,  and  they  said  good-night. 

For  many  minutes  after  they  had  gone  he  stood  alone 
in  the  front  hallway,  leaning  against  the  balustrade.  He 
could  be  nominated  for  mayor,  and  Moriarty  believed  that 
he  could  be  elected.  Mayor  of  Hampstead!  The  whole 
thing  seemed  absurd.  He,  John  Gilbert,  who  only  six 
months  before  had  been  pushed  into  the  Common  Council 
to  fill  a  vacancy.  Moriarty  had  been  working  over  this 
for  weeks,  perhaps  months,  and  he  had  heard  no  word  of 
it.  He  seemed  to  remember  something  that  had  been 
said  one  day  at  the  shop.  He  had  thought  it  a  joke,  of 
course.     Moriarty  was  disappointed.     Moriarty  had  called 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  185 

it  a  duty.  Perhaps  it  was  a  duty.  Could  he  do  it? 
Could  he  swing  his  work  at  Hardy  &  Son's  and  do  the 
mayor's  work  at  the  same  time?  Perhaps.  No,  he  was 
not  clever  enough  to  handle  Council  meetings  or  to  make 
speeches.  It  was  not  his  kind  of  work.  But  the  cam- 
paign part  of  it  appealed  to  him.  He  had  some  ideas 
about  that  campaign,  ideas  of  which  he  had  said  nothing 
to  anybody,  chaotic,  unformed  ideas,  but  ideas  that  inter- 
ested him  greatly  because  they  made  him  angry  whenever 
he  thought  of  them.  He  had  had  no  time  to  work  them 
out,  but  he  meant  to,  and  to  finish,  before  election  day. 
He  shook  his  head  wearily.  Before  election  day!  There 
was  so  much  to  do  between  now  and  election  day. 

Then  there  was  Billy, — he  went  on  with  his  thinking. 
Billy  had  been  mightily  unfair  to  him,  but  down  under- 
neath Billy  was  all  right  and  a  good  friend.  Billy  wanted 
to  be  nominated.  Gilbert  went  back  to  that  Decoration 
Day  meeting  at  Billy's  office.  "I  believe  I  promised  in  a 
sort  of  way  to  help  him,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  prodded 
his  memory.  But  Moriarty  evidently  thought  Billy  could 
not  be  elected. 

Then  he  thought  of  Clare  Hardy.  He  had  not  seen  her 
since  the  night  of  the  Fourth  of  July.  He  had  tried  only 
the  once,  when  she  had  made  it  obvious  to  him  that  she 
did  not  care  to  see  him.  He  had  done  his  best  to  force 
her  out  of  his  mind.  He  had  built  what  seemed  to  him 
an  invulnerable  armor  against  her  out  of  his  great  task 
at  the  mills,  out  of  the  din  of  its  busy  rooms  and  the  calls 
of  his  assistants,  out  of  his  fight,  with  the  Colonel,  for 
stock  enough  to  hold  the  factories  safe  at  the  coming 
meeting.     But  still  she  came  back  to  him,  and  the  big, 


186  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

toiling  man  was  heartsick  for  a  glimpse  of  her.  He  knew 
he  must  wait,  wait  until  she  imderstood  his  side,  wait 
until  she  knew  that  he  had  been  square  and  straight 
through  it  all,  and  then — he  must  wait  after  that  forever. 
There  again  entered  Billy  McNish.  Billy  loved  her  and 
she,  it  seemed,  loved  him.  Gilbert  called  to  his  mother 
that  he  was  going  for  a  walk.  He  picked  up  his  hat  and 
went  out  into  the  silent,  radiant  night. 

At  the  gate  he  looked  down  over  the  scene  which  had 
attracted  Billy  only  a  few  minutes  before.  He  saw  at  the 
right  the  high,  grimy  smokestack  of  Hardy  &  Son  stand- 
ing forth  defiantly  in  the  weird  moonlight.  At  the  left 
were  the  lower,  more  modern  and  more  compact  chimneys 
of  the  Hubbard  mills.  They  seemed  to  him  like  sentinels 
of  the  opposing  forces  which  lay  bivouacked  for  the  night 
in  the  city  below.  He  walked  slowly  down  the  street, 
past  the  old  house,  and  the  Hardys'  and  the  Colonel's. 
People  passed  him  and  spoke  to  him,  but  he  answered 
mechanically,  scarcely  heeding.  Directly  before  him  at 
the  corner  of  a  side  street,  an  old  elm  tree  threw  its  gaunt 
shadow  across  the  path.  A  gnarled  branch  far  above 
looked,  in  its  shadow,  like  a  roughly  carved  hand  pointing 
up  the  short  street.  It  caught  his  interest  and  he  looked 
up.  The  street  was  familiar  to  him,  chiefly  because  the 
third  house  at  the  left  was  the  Methodist  parsonage. 
Gilbert  sometimes  stopped  there  to  play  with  the  min- 
ister's small  son, — an  imaginative  youngster  who  liked 
more  attention  than  his  father  and  mother  were  able  to 
give  him, — or  to  puzzle  himself  with  the  contrasts  between 
Mrs.  Brice's  forced  gayety  and  the  preacher's  forced 
solemnity.     Impulsively  he  turned  into  the  street  now. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  187 

He  would  follow  the  shadowy  signboard.  Perhaps  at 
least  it  would  lead  him  away  from  himself. 

The  maid  at  the  parsonage  liked  Gilbert,  and,  perhaps 
because  she  liked  him  and  perhaps  because  she  was  very 
stupid,  she  merely  told  him  that  Master  Harry  was  in  the 
sitting-room,  and  then  left  him  to  his  own  devices.  Gil- 
bert walked  to  the  sitting-room  door,  and  opened  it  sud- 
denly to  surprise  the  boy.  But  he  stopped  in  the  doorway, 
still  fumbling  over  the  knob  awkwardly,  his  face  redden- 
ing fiercely.     It  was  he,  not  the  boy,  who  was  surprised. 

The  gas  was  not  lit,  but  the  light  from  the  great  lamp 
on  the  table  spread  its  yellow  circle  over  a  collection  of 
blocks,  grouped  in  squares  and  rectangles,  and  badly 
maimed  tin  soldiers  and  dolls  and  various  odds  and  ends 
of  a  small  boy's  playthings.  At  the  edge  of  this  motley 
array  sat  young  Harry,  listening  with  a  child's  absorbed 
interest  to  Clare  Hardy,  who  lay  in  utter  abandon  upon 
the  floor  beside  him.  Miss  Hardy  looked  up  as  the  door 
opened,  and  sat  straight  with  a  rapid  movement  that 
disarranged  some  of  the  carefully  placed  blocks. 

"Oh,  Auntie  Clare,  you  knocked  the  walls  down,"  cried 
the  boy,  rushing  to  the  rescue  and  still  too  much  en- 
grossed to  notice  the  interruption.  The  Prices  had  fol- 
lowed the  fashion,  and  had  made  Master  Harry  the  nephew 
of  all  their  friends.  Then,  instinctively  feeling  the  silence, 
he  turned  and  saw  Gilbert. 

"Hello,  Uncle  Jack,"  he  called  gravely,  as  he  continued 
to  rearrange  the  blocks.     "We're  playin'  fact'ry." 

"Mrs.  Brice  had  to  go  out  to-night,"  Miss  Hardy  ex- 
plained, "and  she  let  me  come  down  to  look  after  the 
boy.     Won't  you  come  in?" 


188  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"If  I  may." 

'^Of  course.  Mr.  Gilbert  knows  a  great  deal  more 
about  factories  than  I  do,  Harry.  He  can  show  us  all 
about  it." 

"Do  you,  Uncle  Jack?"  asked  the  boy  doubtfully. 

Gilbert  stepped  carefully  over  the  "fact'ry"  they  had 
built,  and  sat  down  upon  the  floor  beside  them. 

"More  than  I  sometimes  wish  I  did,"  he  said. 

He  turned  and  looked  steadily  at  Miss  Hardy.  His 
face  was  still  flushed  with  embarrassment.  Then  he 
stretched  out  his  big  hand  toward  her  above  the  boy's 
head. 

"  I'm  mightily  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  frankly.  "  I've 
been  wanting  to  for  a  long  time." 

There  was  an  appeal  in  his  voice  and  in  his  eyes  that 
could  scarcely  be  refused.  Miss  Hardy  gave  him  her 
hand  quickly  and  nodded. 

"Tell  Mr.  Gilbert  about  the  factory  and  the  office, 
Harry." 

"He  isn't  Mr.  Gilbert.  He's  Uncle  Jack,"  the  boy  re- 
marked reprovingly.  Then,  with  boyish  pride,  he  explained 
the  pile  of  blocks,  his  keen,  interested  little  mind  running 
so  far  ahead  of  his  tongue  that  his  speech  slipped  and 
stumbled  in  its  haste  to  catch  up.  They  were  soon  smil- 
ing confidentially  behind  his  back  at  his  half  knowledge  and 
his  quaint  phrases.  Gilbert  threw  himself  whole-heartedly 
into  the  child's  play,  while  Miss  Hardy  leaned  back  against 
a  chair,  and  watched  him  and  listened  critically  to  his  pa- 
tient answers  to  the  boy's  reiterated  questions. 

"An'  is  there  a  fire  in  it?"  They  had  reached  the 
foundry. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  189 

/  '*A  very  big  fire." 

"Hot  enough  to  burn  'em?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  Seven  times  seven?  "  The  boy's  religious  training  had 
taught  him  that  this  was  the  last  extremity  of  heat. 

"  Pretty  nearly,"  laughed  Gilbert.  "  But  this  ought  to 
be  so,  and  that  this  way."  He  deftly  changed  the  position 
of  some  of  the  blocks  and  of  the  tin  soldiers  that  served  as 
workmen.  Harry  Brice  looked  up  inquiringly  at  Miss 
Hardy, 

"Mr.  Gilbert  knows  how  to  remodel  other  people's 
factories."  Miss  Hardy  was  half  sorry  she  had  said  it 
when  she  saw  the  sudden  soberness  of  Gilbert's  face.  But 
she  noticed  that  he  went  on  with  his  changes. 

"You  know  all  about  it,"  he  said  quietly. 

"I  know  one  side  of  it.     He's  very  angry." 

"He  has  misunderstood." 

"I  thought  so." 

"Really?"  His  homely  face  lit  up  with  a  gleam  of 
frank  joy  as  he  turned  to  her. 

"Well,  I  thought,"  she  said  quickly,  frightened  at  her 
own  definiteness,  "that  you  couldn't  be  as  bad  as " 

Harry  had  been  staring  up  at  them,  uncomprehending 
and  with  growing  restlessness. 

"Why  do  the  men  get  all  black?"  he  broke  in  impa- 
tiently. 

"From  the  machines." 

"  Well,  I  shan't  have  any  nasty  machines  in  my  fact'ry." 

"How  will  it  all  end?"  asked  Miss  Hardy. 

"Hard  to  tell.  All  right,  I  guess."  There  was  much 
more  confidence  in  Gilbert's  words  than  he  really  felt. 


190  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"He  isn't  quite  himself."  Miss  Hardy  spoke  hurriedly, 
as  if  she  felt  guilty  at  talking  of  her  father.  ''He's  dis- 
couraged and  he  isn't  well.  He  said  to-night  that  Mr. 
Brett  wants  to  see  him  to-morrow,  and  that  he  thought 
he'd  sell  out  if  he  got  a  chance.  I  don't  believe  he  really 
will,"  she  added,  startled  by  the  fierce  look  of  Gilbert's 
face. 

"  You  mustn't  let  him,"  he  said  almost  roughly.  "  Give 
up  after  all  these  years?  Give  up  to  a  pack  of  sneak 
thieves?  Give  up  with  success  just  ahead  of  him?  We're 
working  for  him.  You  must  know  that.  We'd  be  work- 
ing with  him,  if  he'd  let  us.  If  he'll  just  hang  on  we'll 
re-elect  him  president,  and,  if  he'll  help  us,  we'll  save  the 
shop.  He  holds  the  balance  of  power  for  the  meeting 
now." 

Gilbert's  eyes  were  black  with  sudden  anger,  and  his 
whole  figure  was  tense  with  emotion.  He  explained 
rapidly  the  situation  in  regard  to  the  stock,  making  it 
simple  by  homely  illustrations. 

"I  guess  you've  forgotten  me,"  remarked  the  boy 
plaintively. 

"I  guess  we  have,"  laughed  Gilbert  with  sudden  relax- 
ation.   "What  do  you  want  to  know  now?" 

The  boy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  new  in- 
terest. 

"That's  just  the  way  Uncle  Charles  talks  to  Aunt 
Mary,"  he  said,  reasoning  rapidly,  "when  he  gets  mad 
at  her.  Now  if  you're  Uncle  Jack  and  she's  Auntie 
Clare,  why  don't  you  live  in  a  big  house  by  yourselves 
the  way  they  do?" 

There  was  a  terrifying  pause  for  a  long  fraction  of  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  191 

minute.  Then  Miss  Hardy  jumped  up,  with  her  back 
turned  toward  Gilbert. 

"It's  half-past  nine.  What  would  your  mother  say, 
Harry?  She'd  never  let  me  come  again  when  she  went 
away,  and  we'd  never  play  factory  again." 

Gilbert  laughed  in  spite  of  himself  as  she  stopped  for 
breath. 

''And  before  I  go,  young  man,"  he  said,  "I'll  'up  in 
the  air'  you  three  times — for  punishment."  He  almost 
said  "for  reward." 

Before  the  boy  could  object  he  was  seized  and  hurled 
vigorously  toward  the  ceiling,  to  descend  in  Jack's  strong 
arms.  Three,  four,  five  times  the  operation  was  re- 
peated, while  Miss  Hardy's  cheeks  cooled  as  she  bent  to 
pick  up  the  toys.  But  there  must  be  an  ending  of  even 
"up  in  the  airs,"  and,  with  young  Harry  clasping  his  leg 
and  begging  for  more,  Gilbert  turned  to  say  good-night  to 
Miss  Hardy.  Their  eyes  met  and  there  was  real  com- 
radeship in  the  glance. 

"  I'm  depending  on  you,"  he  said. 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

"Then  you  believe  in  me?" 

"I— I  think  I  do.     I  think  I  have  all  the  time." 

"That's  better  than  all  the  rest." 

She  was  very  quiet  as  she  undressed  the  boy  and 
heard  his  prayers  and  tucked  him  in,  so  quiet  that  he 
had  an  opportunity  to  remember  the  unanswered  ques- 
tion. As  he  lay  in  bed,  decidedly  awake,  he  asked  it 
again. 

"Why?"  he  reiterated. 

Miss  Hardy  turned  out  the  lights. 


192  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"You're  a  funny  boy/'  she  said.  Then  she  leaned 
over  him  and,  putting  her  arms  about  him,  she  half  lifted 
him  up  and  kissed  him.  "  You're  a  funny  boy,"  she  said 
again. 

''Now,"  he  remarked  with  masculine  severity,  "you've 
got  to  tuck  me  in  again." 


CHAPTER   XII 

LATER   IN   THE   EVENING 

MR.  HARDY  passed  the  street  that  led  to  the 
parsonage  only  a  few  moments  after  Gilbert 
turned  into  it  that  night.  If  Jack  had  con- 
tinued his  way  toward  Main  Street  they  probably  would 
have  met.  The  old  man  trudged  up  the  hill,  grunting 
gruffly  to  those  who  spoke  to  him,  staring  at  the  sidewalk, 
which  sometimes  seemed  to  rise  up  in  billows  beneath  his 
feet.  He  passed  unheeding  through  the  beauty  of  the 
night,  stiffening  his  will  against  a  constant  feeling  of 
dizziness,  conscious  only  of  a  numb,  wracking  ache  at  the 
back  of  his  head  and  of  a  packet  of  papers  in  his  coat 
pocket,  which  he  covered  carefully  with  his  rigid  right  arm. 
He  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  reached  the  house  and 
snapped  his  key  in  the  lock.  He  was  glad  to  be  at  home 
again.  Mrs.  Hardy,  upstairs  in  her  room,  heard  his  step 
on  the  porch  and,  getting  up,  she  quietly  locked  her  door 
and  switched  off  the  electricity.  Then  she  sat  nervously 
listening  to  the  stamp  of  his  feet  as  he  passed  through  the 
hall,  and,  when  the  door  of  his  room  slammed  shut  with  a 
noise  that  echoed  through  the  house,  she  shuddered  and, 
turning  on  the  light,  continued  with  her  book. 

In  his  room  Mr.  Hardy  took  the  papers  from  his  pocket 
and  carefully  laid  them  on  the  table.  Then,  although  the 
white  lace  curtains  bellied  in  from  the  breeze  at  an  open 
window,  he  took  off  his  coat.     He  felt  suffocated  and 

193 


194  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

oppressed.  Sitting  down  at  the  table,  he  separated  the 
precious  papers  carefully  into  two  piles.  He  knew  the 
contents  of  every  one  of  them,  but  he  unfolded  each  one 
in  turn  and  read  it  from  beginning  to  end.  As  he  re- 
placed each  paper  he  noted  down  some  figures,  using, 
after  his  usual  custom,  half  of  a  canceled  envelope.  When 
he  was  done  with  them  he  added  the  figures  carefully 
twice.  Then  he  leaned  back  and  stared  vacantly  at  the 
window.  He  had  known  the  result  approximately  before 
he  took  the  papers  from  the  safe,  but  it  was  hard  for  Sam 
Hardy  to  convince  himself  of  defeat.  That  was  what 
these  thin  piles  seemed  to  mean  to  him  now,  defeat; 
utter,  hopeless  defeat.  In  one  pile  were  his  own  stock 
certificates,  which  he  handled  carefully,  almost  tenderly, 
as  if  he  thought  they  might  crumble  at  his  touch.  In  the 
other  pile  were  proxies  and  letters  in  reply  to  his  requests, 
sent  out  frantically  a  week  or  ten  days  after  the  snap 
directors'  meeting.  His  delay  in  sending  them — which 
proved  that  Gilbert  had  been  right  in  his  judgment  of 
"the  old  man" — had  been  one  reason  for  the  thinness  of 
the  pile,  but  a  greater  reason  lay  in  Sam  Hardy's  unpopu- 
larity. He  had  made  few  friends  among  his  stockholders. 
Few  of  those  who  knew  him  could  tolerate  his  up-and- 
down  domineering  way.  Decreasing  dividends  as  well 
had  caused  stockholders  to  lose  faith  in  him.  "Hardy  is 
a  has-been,"  many  of  them  said.  They  even  forgot  that 
he  was  still  a  good  salesman.  But  his  old  power,  his  old 
fighting  grit,  was  not  dead.  As  he  sat,  leaning  back,  his 
set  face  was  still  imcompromising  and  the  sturdy  figure 
did  not  droop. 

"It's  the  last  ditch,"  he  muttered,  "the  last  ditch." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  195 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice  seemed  to  startle  him.  "I'm 
all  in,"  he  went  on,  "all  in.  Nothing  but  a  miracle  can 
save  me  now.  They've  got  me  between  'em.  If  I  fight 
one,  the  other  wins.  People  I  meet  seem  to  know  it. 
'  That's  Sam  Hardy,'  they  seem  to  say.  '  Big  man  once, 
but  down  and  out.'" 

He  rose  and,  going  over  to  the  tall  pier-glass,  he  eyed 
himself  closely.  He  gained  confidence  and  wheeled  defi- 
antly, as  if  to  face  an  invisible  visitor  with  whom  he  had 
been  talking. 

"No,"  he  growled.  "I  won't  give  it  up.  They're  my 
shops,  I  tell  you.  They're  part  of  me,  bone  of  my  bone 
and  flesh  of  my  flesh.  They're  mine,  every  stick  and 
stone  of  'em." 

He  cursed  roundly  and  tramped  up  and  down  the  room, 
attempting  to  force  his  exhausted  mind  upon  the  problem 
which  he  had  tried  a  hundred  times  to  solve  in  the  last 
few  days.  He  had  asked  no  one  for  advice  about  it.  In- 
deed he  had  mentioned  it  only  to  Billy  McNish,  his  law- 
yer, the  director  from  Tareville  and  a  few  local  stock- 
holders. He  had  always  directed  his  fights  alone,  and 
now  he  stood,  half  crazed  with  the  worry  and  the  humilia- 
tion of  it,  facing  this  utter  ruin  alone. 

He  stopped  at  the  table  and  lit  a  cigar.  Then  he  began 
to  describe  the  situation  to  himself.  His  mind  blurred 
badly  and  he  talked  on.  The  spoken  words  seemed  to 
straighten  out  the  tangle  of  too  many  thoughts. 

"If  Jack  Gilbert  gets  control,  he'll  put  me  out.  That's 
what  he's  been  working  for  from  the  start.  And  I  made 
him;  made  him  from  a  green  hand  to  superintendent. 
Now  he  thinks  he  knows  more  about  the  shops  than  I  do, 


196  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

and  I  made  them  as  well  as  him.  He's  changing  'em  now 
so  I  hardly  know  'em,  and  I  can't  stop  him.  He  went 
over  me — over  me,  Sam  Hardy,  who  ran  the  place  before 
he  was  bom.  No  man  ever  did  it  before.  Guess  I'm 
getting  old.  The  men  ain't  afraid  of  me  as  they  were. 
They  snickered,  some  of  'em,  when  I  slipped  in  the  yard 
yesterday." 

He  beat  his  fist  with  sudden  anger  upon  the  table. 

"There'll  be  a  way  out  of  it  yet,"  he  said.  "I'll  make 
'em  bow  down  and  say  their  prayers  to  the  machines  yet." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  the  former  vacant 
stare  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  sat  down  and  leaned  forward, 
his  chin  on  his  hands,  his  elbows  on  the  table. 

"Brett  wants  to  talk,  does  he?  Probably  wants  to 
smooth  me  down  and  j&nd  out  something.  Brett's  a 
sneak,  but  he's  got  Hubbard  back  of  him.  Perhaps — per- 
haps he's  ready  to  force  me  out  now.  No,  the  meeting's 
only  a  little  more'n  a  week  away.  He'll  wait.  But  if 
he'd  buy  me  out — put  up  the  cash, — then  I  could  get  away 
and  I'd  have  something  to  show  for  it.  Nobody  could 
laugh  at  me  then."  For  a  moment  he  sat  dejectedly. 
Then  he  shook  himself  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  grip 
the  two  ends  of  the  table  before  him. 

"What  're  you  thinking  of?"  he  whispered.  "You 
never  was  a  quitter,  Sam  Hardy,  and  you  ain't  one  now. 
There'll  be  a  way  out  yet.  And  the  shops,  I'd  burn  'em 
before  I'd  let  that  crowd  get  'em." 

A  thousand  invisible  wires  seemed  to  be  pulling  him 
down,  and  he  thought  he  could  hear  the  steady  beat  of  his 
aching  head.  He  picked  the  half-smoked  cigar  from  his 
mouth  and  flung  it  through  the  open  window. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  197 

"It  doesn't  taste  good/'  he  explained  to  himself. 
"  Nothing  tastes  good  or  smells  good  or  feels  good.  Wish 
I  knew  how  much  stock  Gilbert's  got,  and  Brett.  Wish 
I'd  sent  out  for  proxies  sooner.  Might  've  known  they'd 
get  ahead  of  me.  Wish  I  knew  what  they'll  do  when  they 
get  control.  Perhaps  Gilbert's  hand  in  glove  with  Brett 
all  the  time.  No,"  he  muttered,  "no,  there'll  be  a  way 
out  yet." 

He  sat  in  this  position  for  some  minutes,  his  tired  brain 
refusing  to  work  consecutively.  It  was  probably  his 
weariness,  as  well  as  his  isolation  and  his  friendlessness 
and  his  obstinate  self-will,  that  kept  him  from  under- 
standing the  real  situation.  If  he  could  have  known,  as 
he  sat  there,  that  Mr.  Hubbard's  first  move  to  own  Hardy 
&  Son  had  been  made  a  year  before,  when  he  maneuvered 
to  get  Mr.  Brett  and  Mr.  Merrivale  upon  the  Hardy  board 
of  directors;  that  he  had  followed  this  by  picking  up 
gradually  any  stock  that  he  could  buy  at  a  sufficiently  low 
price;  that  he  had  tried  to  get  rid  of  Mr.  Hardy  over  the 
matter  of  the  notes  by  a  snap  directors'  meeting,  so  that  he 
could  depress  at  will  the  price  of  stock,  and  that  Gilbert 
and  Colonel  Mead  alone  had  blocked  the  success  of  the 
plan;  that  he  had  been  doing  his  best  to  gain  control  of 
the  annual  meeting  with  exactly  the  same  purpose,  and 
that  again  Gilbert  was  blocking  his  way;  that  now,  with 
the  unexpected  success  of  Gilbert's  reorganization  of 
Hardy  methods  of  production,  Mr.  Hubbard  was  realizing 
that  he  must  buy  control  of  the  works  now  or  never,  except 
at  an  increasing  cost,  and  was  scheming  and  working  to 
that  end; — if  Sam  Hardy  could  have  known  all  that  and 
could  have  believed  it  he  could  have  slept  well  that  night, 


198  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

and  he  could  have  faced  the  morrow  with  confidence. 
But  the  hard-bound  rules  of  his  life  and  character  would 
not  allow  him  to  know  or  to  believe  anything  of  the  kind. 
The  disturbing  human  factor,  the  human  weakness, 
entered,  as  it  often  does,  to  switch  many  a  right  cause  off 
upon  a  siding,  while  a  wrong  cause  thunders  past  it  and 
ahead  of  it  on  the  main  line  to  success. 

"Nobody  cares,"  he  muttered,  his  lips  twitching  ner- 
vously. "Most  of  'em  will  be  glad  to  see  me  go  down. 
Moriarty,  he'll  be  glad,  and  Simpson,  and  the  hands. 
Nobody'll  care.  And  what'll  I  do?  Everything  I've  got 
is  in  the  shop.  I'll  be  a  beggar,  a  nobody,  a  thing  to  be 
laughed  at  and  joked  about."  He  pressed  his  head  with 
his  hands  as  if  to  steady  his  thoughts.  "No,"  he  whim- 
pered, trying  to  shut  his  teeth,  "  no,  there'll  be  a  way  out 
yet,  Sam  Hardy.    There'll  be  a  way  out  yet." 

He  was  still  sitting  there  when  Clare  Hardy  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  came  in  hesitatingly  at  his  gruff  sum- 
mons. 

"  I  saw  the  light  as  I  came  up  the  street,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  I'd  look  in  on  you,  and  find  out  how  you  are 
feeling." 

He  had  risen  laboriously  as  she  entered  and  stood  facing 
her.  Clare  Hardy  saw  the  weary  look  in  his  eyes  and  the 
unaccustomed  whiteness  of  his  flabby  cheeks.  A  sudden 
wave  of  pity  went  over  her  and,  before  he  could  stop  her, 
she  went  to  him  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  To  her  surprise  he  caught  her  to  him  and 
held  her  close.  And  so  they  stood  for  a  full  minute.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  long  life  of  devotion  to  business,  Sam 
Hardy  confessed  that  he  needed  someone's  affection  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  199 

support;  and  in  that  moment  his  feeling  of  hopeless  lone- 
liness left  him. 

"You're  a  good  girl,"  he  said,  patting  her  back  awk- 
wardly in  embarrassment.  There  was  a  suggestion  of 
tears  in  his  eyes  and  in  hers.  She  squared  him  off  with 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  peered  at  him  so  closely 
that  he  grew  uncomfortable  under  her  scrutiny. 

''You're  worried  and  tired,"  she  said.  "You  ought  to 
go  away  and  rest.     You  haven't  been  away  all  summer." 

Mr.  Hardy  shook  his  head  and  tried  to  smile. 

"Not  very  tired,"  he  replied  hurriedly.  "Not  very 
tired.  I  can't  quit  now.  In  a  week  or  two  p'raps  I'll 
quit."  He  paused  for  a  few  seconds.  "  What  'd  you  do," 
he  went  on,  "if  I  should  lose  all  I've  got?  What  'd  you 
do  and  what  d'ye  think  your  mother  'd  do?" 

"Do?"  cried  the  girl.  "Do?  Why,  I've  got  Hardy 
blood  in  me." 

The  old  man  stiffened  proudly. 

"  Do?  "  Miss  Hardy  continued.  "  We'd  form  a  partner- 
ship and  begin  all  over  again.  I  almost  wish  you  would 
lose  it,  every  penny  of  it.  Perhaps,  then,  I'd  amount  to 
something  and  not  mope  around  the  house  and  read  silly 
books.  But  you  aren't  going  to  lose  it.  Now  sit  down 
and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

She  pointed  imperiously  to  the  chair  he  had  vacated, 
and  seated  herself  at  the  other  side  of  the  table.  Bright- 
ened momentarily  by  her  infectious  confidence  he  sat 
down  as  she  bade  him.  As  he  looked  at  the  papers,  how- 
ever, still  evenly  piled  with  business-like  neatness,  the 
gloom  returned  and  he  shook  his  head  again. 

"No,"  he  said  wearily,  "you  wouldn't  understand." 


200  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  You're  not  a  bit  flattering."  The  girl  toyed  flippantly 
with  a  paper  cutter.  "You  think  I  don't  understand 
anything  about  business.  Now  Usten.  You  said  to- 
night that  that  unpleasant  Mr.  Brett  wanted  to  see  you. 
I've  been  thinking  about  that.  How  much  stock  of  your 
own  and  of  other  people's  have  you?" 

He  looked  dully  at  the  added  figures  on  the  paper. 

"Only  about  twenty-four  per  cent,  of  the  total,"  he 
said  with  slow  precision. 

"Well,"  Miss  Hardy  spoke  rapidly,  as  if  she  feared  that 
she  would  forget  what  she  had  prepared  to  say.  "  I  look 
at  it  in  this  way.  Mr.  Brett  and  the  rest  of  them  have 
enough  to  win  with  yours.  They  probably  wouldn't 
come  to  you  unless  they  had.  And  they  haven't  enough 
to  win  without  you,  or  they  certainly  wouldn't  come  to 
you.     Is  that  clear?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Mr.  Hardy,  "that's  clear  unless — well, 
go  on." 

"  Well,  if  you've  got  twenty-four  per  cent. — that's  what 
you  said,  isn't  it?  Yes,  well,  if  you've  got  twenty-four 
per  cent,  and  they've  got  enough  to  win  with  you  but  not 
enough  to  win  without  you,  then  Mr.  Gilbert  and  Colonel 
Mead  can't  have  enough  to  win  without  you  either.  And 
you  hold  the  balance  of  power." 

The  girl  had  remembered  it  and  she  smiled  triumphantly 
to  herself.  Mr.  Hardy,  puzzled  over  the  rapid  statement 
of  what  sounded  like  some  algebraic  problem,  coughed  to 
hide  his  perplexity.  He  repeated  the  words  to  himself, 
and  gradually  light  dawned  upon  him.  He  jumped  to 
his  feet  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro  excitedly. 

"You  may  be  right,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  201 

as  he  spoke.  "That  accounts  p'raps  for  Mr.  McNish 
coming  to  me  for  Gilbert,  too.  They're  in  the  same  fix. 
They're  each  holding  the  other  one  from  getting  at  me. 
Gilbert  may  have  enough  by  now,  though " 

'* He  hasn't,"  cried  Miss  Hardy.  "That  is,  I'm  sure  he 
hasn't." 

She  herself  was  trembling,  as  she  watched  suspicion 
and  doubt  and  belief  struggle  for  control  of  his  mind. 

"  I  believe  you're  right,"  said  Mr.  Hardy  slowly.  "  I've 
said  there'd  be  a  way  out.  I'll  boss  that  meeting  yet " — 
his  eyes  gleamed  at  the  thought — "unless  they  should 
join  up." 

Miss  Hardy  leaned  forward.  Her  woman's  sense  had 
made  her  expect  this  difficulty.  Her  knowledge  of  tac- 
tics, if  not  of  actual  business,  was  keen  enough. 

"Don't  you  think  that  Mr.  Brett  or  Mr.  Hubbard  or 
whoever  was  doing  it  would  have  tried  that  first?"  she 
asked.     "Wouldn't  they  leave  you  as  a  last  resort?" 

"You've  got  a  good  head."  Sam  Hardy  looked  down 
at  his  daughter  admiringly.  "Guess  I'd  better  let  you 
do  my  thinking  for  me  after  this:  I'm  played  out.  But" 
— his  brow  creased  again — "  I  don't  understand  Jack  Gil- 
bert's game." 

"  Perhaps,"  remarked  Miss  Hardy  tentatively,  as  if  the 
idea  had  just  occurred  to  her,  "perhaps  he's  working  for 
you  all  the  time." 

Sam  Hardy  frowned  and  grunted  with  disgust. 

"That's  the  first  fool  thing  you've  said,"  he  growled. 
"That's  the  woman  of  it.  I  tell  you,  men  don't  do  things 
for  other  men.  They  work  for  Number  One.  He  went 
over  me  nearly  two  months  ago,  for  Number  One.     And 


202  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


he^s  playing  some  game  now,  for  Number  One.  I  made 
him  and  he's  turned  on  me.  I'll  do  him  if  I  can  and  he'll 
do  me  if  he  can.     So  get  that  out  of  your  head  quick." 

Miss  Hardy  did  not  dare  press  the  point.  Instead  she 
changed  the  subject. 

"I'd  suggest,"  she  said,  as  if  the  matter  of  John  Gil- 
bert's intentions  had  not  been  mentioned,  'Hhat  you  have 
Billy  McNish  see  Mr.  Brett  for  you  to-morrow,  that  you 
let  me  take  care  of  your  papers  and  not  leave  them  in  your 
safe  at  the  shop  where  somebody  might  get  them,  and 
that  you  go  away  for  a  week's  rest  early  in  the  morning." 

She  arose  while  she  was  talking  and  went  across  to  him, 
and  she  put  one  hand  on  his  shoulder  caressingly  as  she 
stood  by  his  side.  He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  but  there 
was  an  alertness  in  his  whole  attitude  that  had  not  been 
there  a  half  hour  before. 

'*I  can't  go  away,"  he  said,  and  there  was  something 
very  much  like  apology  in  his  tone.  "I've  got  to  stay 
and  see  it  through.  Your  idea  about  McNish  is  all  right. 
I'd  rather  do  it  myself,  but  I  guess  your  way's  better. 
I'll  have  him  find  out  how  things  stand,  too.  Of  course, 
you  take  the  papers  along.  Put  'em  in  that  strong  box 
there  and  keep  'em  safe.     I'm  glad  to  get  rid  of  'em." 

Clare  Hardy  followed  his  pointing  finger  and  brought 
the  dusty  box  from  the  shelf  of  the  open  closet.  She  had 
deposited  the  papers  within  and  locked  it,  and  was  putting 
it  imder  her  arm,  when  she  felt  her  father's  hands  on  her 
shoulders.  Before  she  knew  it  he  had  kissed  her.  He 
turned  away  almost  shamefacedly. 

"  You  have  got  Hardy  blood  in  you,"  he  said  in  a  muffled 
voice.     "And  you've  got  a  good  head,  too." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  203 

"I  got  it  from  you,"  she  retorted  as  she  reached  the 
door. 

"Perhaps  that's  where  mine's  gone  to,"  he  answered 
with  an  attempt  to  be  jocular,  as  she  bade  him  good- 
night. 

Clare  Hardy  sped  along  the  hallway  and  up  into  her 
tower  room,  never  stopping  until  the  box  was  deposited 
carefully  imderneath  her  bed,  and  the  door  closed  and 
locked. 

"I've  done  it,"  she  repeated  breathlessly.  It  seemed 
days  since  she  had  left  the  parsonage,  and  years  since 
Mrs.  Brice  had  left  her  in  charge  of  the  boy.  She  glowed 
with  achievement,  and  she  was  certain  that  she  was  right. 
Clare  Hardy  had  never  distrusted  Gilbert,  even  when  her 
father  in  his  first  rage  had  exploded  with  his  whole 
biased  story,  that  noon  after  the  Fourth  of  July  party. 
Honesty,  she  had  told  herself  in  her  moments  of  character 
study,  was  the  only  thing  that  redeemed  his  homely  face 
and  his  slouching,  awkward  figure  and  his  manners,  which 
were  imconventional,  to  say  the  least.  He  was  honest  and 
strong.  She  stood  ready,  she  had  told  herself,  to  doubt 
him  on  any  other  score.  She  had  refused  to  see  him, 
because  her  father  had  declared  that  Gilbert  "should 
never  set  his  foot  in  the  house  again."  And  perhaps  be- 
cause of  the  prohibition  she  had  wished,  far  more  than 
ever  before,  to  see  him  and  to  talk  with  him  and  to  make 
certain  of  her  reading  of  him. 

The  two  months  had  brought  to  her  new  sensations 
and  new  responsibilities.  Her  father's  evident  illness, 
and  her  mother's  irritability,  which  increased  in  ratio 
with  Mr.  Hardy's  worry;    the  possibility,  at  which  her 


204  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

father  had  hinted  now  and  then  in  his  moments  of  de- 
pression, that  they  might  find  themselves  suddenly  poor; 
all  these  things  had  made  the  girl  feel  that  she  must  not 
only  brighten  Mr.  Hardy  and  soothe  her  mother,  but 
that  she  must  accomplish  something  herself  as  well. 
For  some  weeks  she  had  been  giving  much  of  her  time 
to  the  direction  of  the  housework,  checking  servants' 
extravagances,  planning  simpler  meals,  managing  the 
cleaning,  and  generally  putting  an  end  to  the  former 
expensive,  slipshod  regime.  She  had  made  many  mis- 
takes but,  on  the  whole,  she  had  found  more  enjoyment 
in  it  than  in  her  old  irresponsible  life.  She  had  needed 
something  to  do,  she  said  to  herself.  If  this  was  not  the 
height  of  her  ambition,  at  least  it  was  something  done;  a 
beginning,  perhaps,  for  something  else  that  would  be  more 
to  her  liking.  And  now,  she  felt,  she  had  helped  her 
father  at  a  crisis. 

She  wondered  suddenly  why  she  trusted  John  Gilbert 
so  completely.  There  was  something  else  about  him, 
she  knew  to-night.  He  had  a  way  of  making  other  people, 
herself  included,  do  what  he  wished  them  to  do,  and  she 
was  not  certain  that  she  liked  it  as  applied  to  herself.  As 
she  turned  out  her  light  she  heard  the  echo  of  heavy  foot- 
steps on  the  sidewalk  of  the  silent  street.  Peering  out  of 
the  window,  she  saw  the  unmistakable  giant  figure  of  the 
man  she  was  thinking  about,  under  the  electric  light  at 
the  corner.  Impulsively  she  wished  to  throw  up  the  sash 
and  to  call  to  him  that  everything  was  all  right.  Instead 
she  stood  still,  the  night  breeze  blowing  in  upon  her,  until 
he  had  disappeared  up  the  street  in  the  darkness.  Then, 
with  a  little  sigh,  she  went  to  bed. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  205 

The  Colonel  had  parted  with  Mr.  Moriarty  at  his  own 
gate.  They  had  planned  between  them  John  Gilbert's 
entire  campaign  for  mayor,  on  the  way  down  the  street. 

"  Oi'd  loike  to  have  him  goin'  so  fast  from  the  start  that 
he  kud  walk  up  the  stretch/'  Moriarty  remarked  just  be- 
fore they  said  good-night,  "  but  'twill  be  close  anny  way  ye 
luk  at  it.  They've  got  the  money,  but  he's  a  gentleman 
as  well  as  a  workingman,  and  he  ought  to  win."  Mr. 
Moriarty  retained,  unconsciously,  something  of  the  old 
country's  class  distinctions. 

"Jack's  a  real  man,  every  inch  of  him,"  replied  the 
Colonel,  "and,"  he  added  whimsically,  "thar's  a  good 
many  inches." 

When  he  had  lighted  his  lamp  the  Colonel  tried  to  read 
the  evening  paper.  All  the  headlines,  however,  seemed 
to  spell  alike  to  him  that  night.  "  John  Gilbert  Elected 
Mayor."  The  mere  thought  of  it  thrilled  his  loyal  old 
soul.  During  his  varied  life  in  the  West  as  soldier,  pony- 
express  rider  and  miner,  he  had  been  for  a  year  the  sheriff 
of  a  small,  but  decidedly  energetic,  mining  town,  and  he 
had  as  great  a  respect  for  office  as  he  professed  to  have 
lack  of  respect  for  most  officials.  He  pondered  over  Mr. 
Moriarty's  plans,  and  gradually  he  fitted  himself  into  each 
one  until  he  had  laid  out  more  work  for  himself  than  he 
could  have  done  in  six  months.  When  at  last  he  looked 
at  the  clock  he  found  that  it  was  long  past  his  usual  bed- 
time. He  was  beginning  his  preparations  for  closing  up 
and  going  to  bed,  when  Gilbert  surprised  him  at  the  door. 

"You  look  like  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  Colonel,"  Gilbert 
remarked  as  the  veteran  appeared  with  lamp  upraised. 
"  I  just  dropped  in  to  tell  you  about  this  political  business. 


206  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

I'm  not  going  to  run.  That's  settled.  I  wanted  to  get 
it  off  my  mind." 

"Why,  you're  all  elected,  boy.  Got  it  all  worked  out 
in  my  mind,"  declared  the  Colonel. 

"Can't  help  it.  Colonel.  Sorry,  but  I'm  out  of  it. 
Tell  Moriarty  so  if  you  see  him." 

Colonel  Mead  groaned.  The  headlines  were  fading 
away,  and  all  his  evening's  dreams  and  plans  were  crum- 
bling. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  vote  for  Billy  McNish." 

The  Colonel  made  a  wry  face  as  if  he  had  taken  bitter 
medicine. 

"Billy  McNish,"  he  repeated  sarcastically,  "thet 
dresses  like  one  o'  these  advert-ise-ments  of  Noo  York 
tailors.  Billy  McNish  1  Did  I  ever  tell  ye  about  the  note 
he  wrote  me — note,  not  a  letter,  d'ye  hear?  Billy,  he 
couldn't  write  a  hull  letter  without  changin'  his  mind 
'fore  he  finished  it.  It  wuz  about  that  little  proceedin' 
Fourth  o'  July  night.  It  wuz  so  slushy  thet  it's  a  wonder 
it  didn't  soak  through  the  envelope,  an'  it  wuz  addressed 
to  Ralph  Mead,  Esquire — Esquire,  do  ye  savvey?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  part  of  Billy's  artistic  temperament," 
laughed  Gilbert. 

"Artistic  temp'rament?"  sneered  the  Colonel.  "Lord, 
I  hev  that  ev'ry  momin'  in  bed.  When  a  woman  hes  a 
boy,  thet's  so  lazy  an'  shiftless  an'  gen'rally  good  fer 
nothin'  thet  thar  ain't  ord'nary  words  fit  to  describe  it, 
she  alluz  says  he's  got  'artistic  temp'rament.' " 

"Billy's  all  right.  Colonel." 

"Yes,  Billy's  all  right — fer  decorative  perposes.    I  tell 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  207 

ye,  Jack,  feather-bed  livin'  makes  feather-bed  men.  Ye 
can't  get  around  it." 

"I've  got  another  bit  of  news  for  you."  Gilbert  res- 
cued Billy's  character  from  the  Colonel's  relentless  dissec- 
tion by  changing  the  subject.  "  *  The  old  man's '  thinking 
seriously  of  going  over  to  the  other  side.  I  heard  it 
straight  to-night." 

Colonel  Mead  drew  in  his  breath  in  a  long  whistle. 

"That  means  hitchin'  up  and  puttin'  for  shelter,"  he 
remarked. 

"  No,  I  think  I've  stopped  him.     Never  mind  how." 

"Have,  eh?"  mused  the  Colonel.  "Well,  you  be  keer- 
ful.  Ridin'  somebody  else's  hoss  too  far  hez  got  many  a 
man  strung  up  fer  stealin'  of  it.  Didn't  think  it  o'  Hardy, 
though.     Thought  he  had  too  much  sand." 

"They  wouldn't  be  after  him  imless  they  were  a  bit 
desperate.     There's  no  love  lost,  you  know,"  said  Gilbert. 

"That  man  Hubbard!"  The  Colonel  forgot  the  lamp 
in  his  emphatic  conviction,  and  the  light  was  blown  out 
by  the  unexpected  gesture.  The  Colonel  soberly  exam- 
ined it  before  he  went  on.  "That  man  Hubbard,"  he 
began  again,  "  is  the  kind  of  man  thet  'd  make  friends  with 
his  dead  mother-in-law,  ef  he  thought  he  could  jump  a 
claim  in  hell  by  a-doin'  of  it.  But  I  ain't  thinkin'  o'  him 
nor  o'  Sam  Hardy.  I'm  thinkin'  of  you.  Thar's  two 
games  I  ain't  got  any  use  for — give-away  in  checkers  an' 
that  fool  game  o'  hearts.  They're  too  benevolent.  They 
make  ye  think  o'  some  texts  in  the  Bible.  '  He  that  loses 
most  wins,'  an' '  Make  yerself  poor  an'  ye  shall  be  rich,'  an' 
such  like.  Seems  like,  when  ye  read  'em,  thet  it's  only  a 
step  from  paradox  to  paradise.    An'  it's  my  observation 


208  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

thet  a  man  thet  plays  good  give-away  never  plays  good 
checkers.  I  want  you  to  play  checkers  and  run  fer 
mayor." 

"I  won't  give  away  anything  that  belongs  to  me," 
Gilbert  broke  in  to  stop  the  Colonel's  flow  of  words.  "I 
haven't  got  time  to  be  mayor,  and  I  haven't  the  brains  to 
be  mayor,  and  I've  promised  Billy  McNish  I'd  work  for 
him." 

"  Well,"  sighed  the  Colonel,  "  ef  ye  promised  I  suppose 
that's  the  end  of  it." 

"Say,  Colonel,  how  about  Tubb?"  asked  Gilbert,  stop- 
ping half  way  down  the  walk  after  they  had  said  gQod- 
night. 

" Oh,  he's  still  Tubb,  Lord  help  him!  Still  got  his  straw 
up  to  see  which  way  the  wind  blows,  and  still  got  his  ear 
to  the  ground.  Ez  far  ez  I  kin  make  out,  wind's  kinder 
variable,  and  he  ain't  heard  nothin'  loud  an'  clear." 

"He's  up  to  you.  Colonel."  The  gate  slammed  and 
Gilbert  swung  off  down  the  street.  Colonel  Mead  turned 
into  the  house  once  more,  but  he  was  not  thinking  of  Mr. 
Tubb. 

"Thar's  one  satisfaction,"  he  remarked  to  himself  with 
a  grin,  "I  ain't  promised  nobody.". 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MISS  HARDY   GOES  CALLING 

WHEN  Clare  Hardy  awoke  the  next  morning  at 
the  servant's  sharp  rap  at  her  door,  she 
curled  up  sleepily  for  a  moment,  the  thought 
that  the  maid  was  in  a  bad  humor  alone  crossing  her 
drowsiness.  She  could  always  read  vindictiveness  or 
buoyant  spirits  or  respectable  timidity  in  these  morning 
knocks.  Then  she  noticed,  with  some  interest,  that  the 
breeze  that  sifted  through  the  curtains  was  cool  and  that 
a  long  ray  of  sunshine  lay  along  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
She  leaned  forward  and  thrust  her  bare,  slender  fore-arm 
into  the  sun's  mild  warmth,  and  watched  the  yellow 
radiance  flicker  there  as  the  wind-blown  curtains  played 
in  and  out  of  the  light's  pathway.  Then  suddenly  she 
uttered  a  low  cry  and,  darting  forth  from  the  covers,  she 
leaned  and  drew  from  beneath  the  bed's  edge  the  rectan- 
gular, black  strong-box.  She  opened  it  nervously,  and, 
finding  its  contents  untouched,  she  locked  it  again  with 
a  quick  little  gasp  of  relief.  Then  she  took  it  into  her 
arms  and  held  it  close  and  sat  thinking.  All  the  bright- 
ness of  the  morning  seemed  to  concentrate  in  her  eyes 
and  to  be  reflected  in  the  smile  about  her  mouth.  What 
a  fresh,  fine  world  it  was,  to  be  sure,  and  how  good  it  was 
to  be  living  in  it!     When  she  arose  and  moved  about  the 

209 


210  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

room  as  she  dressed,  her  step  seemed  to  have  lost  its  old 
lightness.  It  was  alert  and  confident.  She  was  no  longer 
that  Clare  Hardy  who  had  lived  indolently,  aimlessly, 
constantly  dissatisfied,  the  threads  of  her  character  lying 
loose,  unwoven.  Something  or  somebody  had  caught  up 
the  straying  strands  and  was  weaving  them  strongly  to- 
gether. She  threw  aside  the  curtains  and  looked  out  at 
the  bright  new  world.  Then,  smiling,  she  went  down- 
stairs. 

It  was  a  silent  breakfast,  with  Mrs.  Hardy's  chair 
vacant  as  usual  and  "the  old  man"  busy  with  the  morn- 
ing Register  as  he  gulped  his  coffee  rapidly.  Sam  Hardy 
had  come  to  look  upon  meals,  and  upon  breakfast  in  par- 
ticular, as  necessary  evils  to  be  finished  as  quickly  as 
possible.  They  delayed  business.  He  devoured  his  food 
between  news  paragraphs,  and  then,  shoving  back  his 
chair  with  a  business-like  scraping,  he  hurried  out  into 
the  hall.  Miss  Hardy  created  an  innovation  by  rising  and 
following  him. 

"I  hope  you  have  a  good  day,  partner,"  she  said.  "Is 
there  anything  I  can  do?" 

For  answer  he  turned  back  from  the  door  and,  putting 
his  arms  about  her  awkwardly,  he  kissed  her. 

"Guess  not,  thank  ye,"  he  said  shortly,  to  hide  his  em- 
barrassment at  the  unusual  proceeding.  "Take  good 
care  of  mother."  Then  he  turned  and  hurried  out,  for  it 
had  occurred  to  them  both  that  this  was  the  old  formula 
he  had  used  when  she  was  much  younger,  words  which  he 
had  not  spoken  in  years. 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  for  a  walk,  the  day's  so  fine?" 
Clare  asked  her  mother  later,  as  Mrs.  Hardy,  in  a  flowing 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  211 

morning  gown,  sat  eating  her  breakfast  daintily  in  her 
rooms  upstairs. 

"The  sun  is  too  bright,  my  dear,"  she  said,  looking 
toward  her  window  and  shaking  her  head.     **  There  is 
nothing  more  hideous  than  freckles  for  a  woman  of  my 
age,  and  I  always  freckle  terribly.     Did  your  father  say 
anything  about  our  going  away  somewhere  this  Fall?" 

Miss  Hardy  said  that  he  had  not. 

"I  suppose  not,"  went  on  Mrs.  Hardy  with  a  sigh  of 
irritation.  "  But  we  really  must  do  it.  People  are  talk- 
ing, I  know,  because  we  have  been  in  town  all  summer. 
Someone  said  to  me  the  other  day  that  it  was  a  blessing, 
for  those  who  haven't  the  money  to  go  away,  that  the 
summer  on  the  whole  had  not  been  severe.  We  must  go 
to  some  unusual  place  next  month. 

Clare  Hardy  judiciously  picked  up  the  tray  of  dishes. 

"Let  Mary  take  them,  child,"  commanded  Mrs.  Hardy. 

"Mary  is  busy.  I'll  take  them,"  the  girl  said  deci- 
sively. "And  I  think  we  oughtn't  to  bother  father 
about  going  away  just  now.  He's  too  worried  about 
his  business." 

Mrs.  Hardy  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"He  is  always  worried  about  his  business,"  she  said 
quickly 

"But  this  is  different,"  Miss  Hardy  asserted  from  the 
doorway.  "He  has  told  me  all  about  it.  We  ought  to 
help  him." 

Mrs.  Hardy  sat  still  in  her  chair  for  a  long  time.  Down 
underneath  the  outer  artificial  shell  which  she  had  been 
taught  to  wear  from  childhood,  Mrs.  Hardy  was  a  good 
woman  with  a  kind  heart.     He,  her  husband,  had  told 


212  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Clare,  her  daughter,  all  about  his  business.  He  had  not 
told  her.  She  remembered  that  at  first,  years  ago,  he 
had  tried  to  tell  her.  She  had  made  him  understand  then 
that  she  did  not  care  to  know  about  it  all,  that  she  had  her 
duties  just  as  he  had  his,  and  that  the  less  each  troubled 
the  other  with  his  or  her  difficulties  the  easier  it  would  be 
for  both  of  them.  That  feeling  had  been  the  result  of  her 
training.  Now,  after  nearly  thirty  years,  she  suddenly 
wondered  if  she  had  not  been  wrong;  if,  after  all,  she  did 
not  wish  to  hear  of  his  work  and  his  plans  and  his  worries. 
A  feeling  almost  of  jealousy  of  her  own  daughter  flashed 
through  her  heart,  and  showed  her,  quivering  there,  her 
old-time  love  for  him,  a  love  she  had  always  felt  although 
she  had  hidden  any  expression  of  it.  She  had  believed  that 
weakness  of  this  sort,  excusable  enough  in  the  young, 
should  be  covered  up  by  those  who  realize  the  serious 
conventions  of  life.  Could  it  be,  she  asked  herself,  that 
the  misunderstanding,  that  made  a  gulf  between  them, 
was  in  part  her  fault?  She  tried  to  read  and  she  could 
not.  "We  ought  to  help  him,"  she  repeated,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  Clare,  her  daughter,  was  sitting  in  judg- 
ment upon  her.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  factory, 
which  had  yielded  them  money  uncomplainingly  for  so 
long  a  time,  was  in  any  real  danger?  A  half  hour  later, 
more  shaken  than  she  would  have  cared  to  admit,  she 
braved  the  sun  to  walk  down  to  the  center  of  town.  She 
could  not  stay  still  in  that  house  another  moment,  she 
said  to  herself.  It  may  be  added,  however,  that  she  wore 
a  heavy  black  veil. 

When  Clare  Hardy  had  given  the  machinery  of  the  day's 
housework  sufficient  impetus  so  that  it  could  not  run 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  213 

down  until  nightfall,  she  turned  toward  the  high  terraced 
garden  next  door.  She  had  been  going  there  often  all 
summer,  assured  of  her  welcome  by  Mr.  McNish  when- 
ever she  saw  him.  The  break  in  the  hedge  had  never 
been  filled,  although  the  green  from  each  side  made  the 
passway  narrow,  and  through  it  she  went,  hatless,  the 
sleeves  of  her  shirtwaist  rolled  up  to  the  elbow  and  her 
short  skirt  swinging  free  from  the  twigs  and  grasses  of 
the  path.  Slowly  she  walked  past  the  gardens  of  the  ter- 
races, and  on  to  the  little  summer-house  that  still  stood  in 
the  clump  of  woods  behind  them.  Here  she  curled  her- 
self up  on  the  broad  seat  and,  half  turning,  rested  her 
arms  on  the  railing  and  her  face  upon  her  arms.  And 
so  she  sat  for  some  time.  A  squirrel  ran  up  the  sod 
directly  before  her  and  sat  back  upon  his  haunches 
sociably.  Birds  perched  nearby  on  the  railing  and 
looked  at  her  inquisitively,  their  heads  tilted  to  one  side. 
But  she  paid  no  attention  to  them.  At  last  Mr.  McNish's 
kindly  voice  recalled  her  to  the  present.  She  had  been 
living  in  the  past  and  in  futures  of  her  own  planning. 

"May  I  come  in?"  he  asked,  as  he  reached  the  steps. 

"May  I  stay?"  she  asked  in  reply,  using  his  inflection. 

Mr.  McNish  smiled  and  bowed  in  his  courtly  way,  and 
sat  down  opposite  her. 

"  You  like  the  place,  eh?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply,  turning  toward  him.  Mr. 
McNish  was  a  man  to  invite  simplicity.  "It's  like  a 
colony  of  very  old  friends.  The  flowers  all  nod  to  me  in 
the  gardens,  and  this  spot  seems  to  me  like  a  protecting 
pair  of  arms,  always  open  to  me.  It's  strange,  isn't  it, 
what  a  shelter  one's  memories  make  for  one?" 


214  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Memories?"  He  was  obviously  amused.  "Memo- 
ries for  a  child  like  you?  You  ought  to  be  thinking 
about  prophecies.  Leave  the  memories  for  old  fossils 
like  me." 

"Do  you  know,"  Miss  Hardy  went  on  confidentially, 
"I  think  I  like  it  best  out  here  when  it's  raining.  The 
trees  drip  all  about  one  and  the  roof  hums  with  the  beat 
of  the  drops,  and  all  the  time  one  sits  here  dry  and  com- 
fortable. It*s  being  out  in  the  rain  without  getting  wet, 
don't  you  see?" 

Mr.  McNish  nodded  gravely. 

"Same  sensation  you  have  in  a  bomb-proof  with  the 
shells  bursting  all  'round,"  he  said. 

"Billy  doesn't  come  out  here  very  often,  does  he?" 
asked  the  girl,  after  a  long  pause.  The  utter  quiet  and 
contentment  of  the  place  made  the  talking  desultory. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  McNish,  "he  doesn't.  Young  blood, 
you  know;  a  thousand  things  to  do  at  once;  a  thousand 
ambitions  to  be  satisfied.  By  and  by  he'll  find  out  that 
there's  more  music  in  a  robin's  chirp  than  there  is  in  the 
shouts  of  a  mob.  Sometime  a  cluster  of  flowers  or  a  tree 
in  blossom  will  be  prettier  to  him  than  his  name  in  print. 
Sometime  he  may  learn  a  lot  of  things  like  that.  I  hope 
he'll  have  the  luck  not  to  find  'em  out  too  late." 

"You  believe  in  luck  then?"  queried  Miss  Hardy. 

"With  a  boy  like  Billy,"  nodded  Mr.  McNish  soberly. 
"  What  most  people  call  luck  is  only  a  matter  of  knowing 
what  you  want  and  getting  it.     But  Billy's  different." 

"Yes,"  assented  Miss  Hardy,  "Billy  is  different  from 
almost  anybody  I've  ever  met." 

"  Billy  isn't  sure  of  what  he  wants  and  he  don't  know 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  215 

how  to  get  it,"  Mr.  McNish  went  on.  "He  goes  out  and 
looks  for  four-leaf  clovers.  You  know  what  I  mean.  A 
man  like  that  may  not  find  one  until  he's  pretty  old,  and 
then  it's  likely  to  be  withered.  I  don't  want  Billy  to  be 
like  that." 

Mr.  McNish  drummed  uneasily  upon  the  floor  of  the 
summer-house  with  his  cane,  and  Miss  Hardy  sat  silent, 
not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"Strange  I  should  talk  to  you  about  him,"  he  said. 
Then  he  added  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "And  yet  I  don't 
know  that  it's  so  strange  either." 

"It's  very  interesting — and — nice  of  you,"  Miss  Hardy 
answered  non-committally,  a  bright  flush  creeping  into 
her  cheeks.  Billy's  father  looked  across  at  her  and 
changed  the  subject  hurriedly. 

"Speaking  of  the  garden  and  this  place,"  he  said,  "I 
always  feel  like  a  visitor  myself,  as  if  I  didn't  really 
belong  here.  Every  time  I  come  out  here  I  feel  as  if  I 
ought  to  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Gilbert,  or  be  a  trespasser.'* 

"I  hardly  know  what  she's  Uke  now."  Miss  Hardy 
looked  dreamily  past  him.  "She  used  to  be  very  kind  to 
me,  long  ago." 

"She's  kind  to  everybody,"  declared  Mr.  McNish. 
"She's  a  wonderful  woman.  I  can't  tell  you  about  her. 
You'd  have  to  know  her  to  understand." 

"  I'm  going  to,"  said  Miss  Hardy  deliberately.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  John  Gilbert?"  she  added  after  a  pause. 

Mr.  McNish  looked  at  her  questioningly  for  a  moment. 
"  You've  probably  heard  things  about  him,"  he  said. 

Miss  Hardy  assented,  and  waited  with  a  well-feigned 
air  of  indifference. 


216  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Well."  The  elder  McNish  could  be  sententious  on 
occasion.  "I  don't  think  anything  about  him.  I  know. 
I've  known  that  boy  ever  since  he  was  in  kilts,  and  his 
heart's  as  straight  and  as  big  as  his  body.  He's  not  very 
handsome  and  he's  not  over-quick,  but  he's  got  a  back- 
bone that  'd  make  most  others  seem  like  water  reeds  to 
an  oak  tree.  He's  as  stubborn  as  a  regiment  of  army 
mules;  he's  as  gritty  as  General  Grant  ever  was;  and  he's 
as  kind  as  his  mother.  There's  just  one  word  that  de- 
scribes him.  He's  inevitable.  That's  it — inevitable. 
You  mark  my  words." 

Having  delivered  himself,  Mr.  McNish  snapped  the  lid 
of  his  watch  vigorously  and  added  that  he  must  go  down 
to  the  store.  An  hour  in  the  morning  and  two  in  the 
afternoon  satisfied  him  now  for  his  day's  work.  He  had 
worked  eighteen  hours  a  day  often  enough  in  the  past,  he 
declared,  to  keep  his  average  good  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

"This  is  your  back  yard,"  he  said  with  his  usual  cour- 
tesy.    "Come  often." 

"I'll  ask  Mrs.  Gilbert  if  I  may,"  she  laughed. 

"Do,"  he  said,  "do.    I  wish  you  would." 

Long  after  the  fine  old  gentleman  had  gone  Clare  sat 
repeating  his  words  over  and  over  to  herself.  "Inevi- 
table," she  repeated,  "inevitable."  There  was  something 
almost  menacing  about  the  word. 

After  a  quiet  luncheon,  to  which  Mr.  Hardy  did  not 
return,  Clare  dressed  to  go  out.  She  wore  a  simple,  blue, 
tailor-made  suit,  but  anyone  who  had  seen  her  stand  long 
moments  before  the  glass  would  have  known  that  she 
was  unusually  anxious  to  look  well  that  afternoon.  As 
she  was  crossing  the  threshold  she  remembered  suddenly 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  217 

that  the  meeting  with  Mr.  Brett,  which  they  had  talked 
of  the  night  before,  came  at  four  o'clock.  She  must  make 
the  papers  safe  beyond  any  chance  of  her  father's  changing 
his  mind.  Returning,  she  took  them  from  the  strong- 
box, and,  putting  it  in  plain  sight  on  the  closet  shelf,  she 
placed  the  papers  with  feminine  caution  in  a  wicker  case, 
under  a  layer  of  handkerchiefs.  Then,  laughing  to  her- 
self at  her  stratagem,  she  hurried  out. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  was  upstairs  in  her  little  sewing-room  when 
the  bell  rang. 

"And  who  might  that  be?"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
tore  off  her  apron  and  went  slowly  down  the  front  stair- 
way, smoothing  away  unruly  wrinkles  from  her  dress. 
She  started  when  she  saw  the  vision  in  blue,  and  threw 
her  shoulders  back  primly. 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  said  Clare  Hardy, 
stretching  forth  her  ungloved  hand,  "if  you're  not  too 
busy  and  if  I'm  not  in  the  way." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  relaxed  and  caught  the  hand  with  her  own. 

"Come  in,"  she  said  heartily.     "Come  right  in." 

She  started  to  lead  the  way  into  the  tiny  parlor  that 
faced  the  street,  but  Miss  Hardy  hesitated. 

"  You  came  from  upstairs,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  You  were  do- 
ing something.  Let  me  go  up  with  you  and  talk  while 
you  work,  or — let  me  help  you." 

"All  right,"  Mrs.  Gilbert  said  readily  enough.  Then, 
like  any  yoimg  girl,  she  gathered  her  skirts  together  that 
she  might  run  up  the  stairs.  "I  was  just  doing  a  bit  of 
sewing,  and  it's  as  gay  to  have  company  in  one  room  as 
another." 

When  they  were  comfortably  seated  in  the  bare  room 


218  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

above,  Mrs.  Gilbert  smiled  at  Miss  Hardy  over  a  needle 
she  was  threading. 

"I  used  to  say,  Miss  Hardy,"  she  said,  "that  no  woman 
would  ever  see  anything  here  but  the  parlor  and  the 
dining-room.  They  have  some  of  the  old  things,  and  I 
wasn't  so  ashamed  of  them.  I  think  you  are  the  first  to 
get  up  the  stairs.  It  was  false  pride,  I  know,  and  I  was  a 
very  prideful  woman.  I've  laughed  about  it  many  times. 
But  somehow  you  can't  laugh  away  your  weaknesses  and 
you  wouldn't  if  you  could,  I  think.  They're  the  marks 
that  make  you  feel  at  home  with  yourself." 

"But  sometimes  they  aren't  part  of  you,  at  all,"  said 
Clare  quickly.  "They're  just  outside  conventions.  I 
came  here  to  make  a  confession,  and  you've  made  one  first 
to  make  it  easier  for  me.  I  ought  to  have  come  here  a 
hundred  times.  I  wanted  to  come,  too,  and  I  never  have, 
just  because  others  didn't.  It's  as  if  I'd  rented  my 
existence  from  other  people,  and  lived  according  to  their 
rules.  I'm  more  ashamed  than  I  can  say  and  I'm  sorry 
to  have  lost  you  all  this  time.     I  hope  you'll  forgive  me." 

No  one  could  have  helped  forgiving  the  girl  with  that 
frank  appeal  in  her  eyes  and  with  the  utter  humility  of 
her  words.  Least  of  all  could  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who  leaned 
forward  and  patted  Miss  Hardy's  hand  affectionately. 

"You  spoke  it  very  nicely,  dearie,"  she  said,  with  a 
motherly  tenderness  that  suddenly  filled  a  place  in  the 
girl's  heart  which  she  had  not  realized  was  empty.  "I 
know  how  it's  been.  I'd  likely  have  done  the  same  in 
your  place.  I've  never  really  laid  it  against  you,  although 
I'll  own  I've  missed  you." 

"Sometimes  it  seems  to  me,"  Miss  Hardy  said  impul- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  219 

sively,  "that  we're  all  a  lot  of  frauds.  I  was  thinking 
to-day  that  if  we  should  be  poor,  my  friends  would  prob- 
ably turn  their  backs  on  me — all  my  own  sort  of  people, 
I  mean." 

"The  friends  your  money  buys,  your  lack  of  it  sells,'^ 
answered  Mrs.  Gilbert.  Then,  catching  herself,  she  went 
on  hurriedly,  "But  there  are  excuses  for  them.  They 
can  do  things  you  can't  do,  and  you  soon  drift  apart.  And 
as  for  your  own  sort  of  people,  I  find  that  almost  anybody 
can  be  my  sort  of  people  if  I  give  them  a  chance." 

Clare  Hardy  knew  that  this  gentle-voiced  woman  was 
the  moving  force  of  the  women's  work  at  her  church,  and 
that  she  was  active  in  many  of  the  organized  benevo- 
lences of  the  town.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Gilbert  must 
have  denied  herself  constantly  during  all  those  years  of 
Jack's  schooling,  and  that,  always  since,  mother  and  son 
had  struggled  along  on  absurdly  small  means.  She  had 
had  what  Miss  Hardy  considered  a  hard  life,  for  the  last 
twenty  years,  and  yet  she  seemed  to  the  girl  little  older 
for  the  years  or  for  the  toil.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of 
complete  contentment  about  her  and  about  the  humble 
little  house,  that  astonished  and  charmed  the  girl. 

"I  was  in  the  old  garden  this  morning,"  she  said  at 
last.  "Mr.  McNish  told  me  I  should  ask  your  permission 
to  go  there.     Perhaps  that's  one  reason  I  came  to-day." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  laughed  happily. 

"He  said  that,  did  he?  He's  a  good  man,  is  Donald 
McNish.  He's  tried  to  have  me  come  over  to  see  it  but, 
somehow,  I  haven't  the  courage.     How  does  it  look?" 

"Just  the  same.     You'd  scarcely  notice  a  change." 

"Well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Gilbert  with  evident  pride,  "he 


220  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

couldn't  have  made  it  prettier  than  it  was.  Those  were 
bonny  days,  bonny  days."  She  stared,  unseeing,  at  the 
work  lying  idle  in  her  hands.  Then  she  picked  it  up 
with  new  energy.     "  But  so  are  these,''  she  added. 

Miss  Hardy  sat  silent  for  so  long  a  time  after  this  that 
Mrs.  Gilbert  became  curious. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about  so  long?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  the  girl  frankly,  "if  I  could 
ever  learn  your  secret  for  keeping  happy." 

"Why,  I've  no  secret  at  all."  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  slightly 
embarrassed  by  this  sudden  personal  turn  of  the  conver- 
sation, but  she  liked  it.  She  hesitated  a  moment.  Then 
she  stiffened  herself  proudly.  "It's  a  Mackenzie  trait  to 
forget  defeats  and  remember  victories,"  she  said.  "  It's 
a  Mackenzie  trait  to  think  well  of  yourself  and  of  your 
neighbors,  and  not  to  waste  your  time  and  patience 
mourning  over  all  your  failings  and  gloating  over 
everybody's  else.  It's  a  Mackenzie  trait  to  have  work 
enough  to  do  to  keep  you  company.  It's  a  Mackenzie 
trait  to  have  a  good  strong  lad  who'll  think  of  you 
a  year  before  he'll  think  of  himself.  And  it's  a 
Mackenzie  trait  to  shift  all  your  burdens  to  the  Al- 
mighty shoulders  that  are  always  waiting  to  bear 
them.  There" — she  stopped  and  smiled  across  at  the 
girl, — "you'll  be  thinking  I'm  a  boastful  and  preachy 
woman,  but  it's  often  and  often,  I'll  tell  you,  that  I'm  a 
bad  Mackenzie." 

"Blood  tells,"  mused  Miss  Hardy. 

"Oh,  aye,  blood  tells,  but  you  don't  always  listen  to 
it,  more  shame  to  you." 

Miss  Hardy  nodded  thoughtfully.    Then,  remembering 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  221 

suddenly  her  real  errand,  she  tried  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion to  John  Gilbert.  She  expected  to  mention  it  casually, 
as  if  it  were  a  natural  part  of  the  talk.  But  always  Mrs. 
Gilbert  outmaneuvered  her.  The  mere  suggestion  of  his 
name  set  his  mother  gossiping  of  anything  and  everything 
else.    At  last  Miss  Hardy  arose  to  go. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  Mr.  Gilbert,"  she  said  desperately, 
"that  the  matter  he  was  interested  in  is  all  right." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  showed  none  of  the  surprise  she  felt. 

"  He'll  be  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said  gravely.  She 
had  no  intention  of  letting  the  girl  think  that  there 
was  anything  about  Jack  that  his  mother  did  not 
know. 

" I'll  look  for  you  often,"  she  said  at  the  door.  "I  was 
saying  to  John  the  other  night,  that  all  my  friends  were 
growing  so  old  that  I'd  have  to  find  somebody  beside  him 
of  my  own  age  to  talk  to." 

There  was  no  sign  of  guile  in  her  eyes  as  they  searched 
Clare  Hardy's  face,  but,  when  the  girl  had  gone,  Mrs. 
Gilbert  neglected  to  go  back  to  her  work.  She  sat  won- 
dering what  there  was  between  her  son  and  this  girl, 
where  they  had  met  and  why  he  had  told  her  nothing 
about  it.  She  determined  to  find  out  everything  when 
he  came  home.  Perhaps  she  did  and  perhaps  she  did 
not.  A  mother's  knowledge  is  the  only  bottomless  pool 
that  has  never  been  fathomed. 

They  had  an  almost  inconceivably  enjoyable  dinner 
that  night  at  the  Hardys',  without  an  unpleasant  word 
or  a  jarring  incident.  In  the  hallway,  afterwards,  Sam 
Hardy  took  the  girl  to  one  side. 

"  You  were  dead  right,"  he  said.  "  I'll  own  that  meeting 


222  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

with  twenty-four  per  cent,  of  the  stock.  I'll  show  'em 
yet  whether  Sam  Hardy " 

Mrs.  Hardy  had  stopped  indecisively  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs,  but  now  she  came  swiftly  to  them. 

''Samuel,"  she  said  with  set  lips,  "I  wish  you  to  tell 
me  all  about  it.'' 

Mr.  Hardy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  open  amaze- 
ment. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  last.     "Come  in  here." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  library,  and  Clare  Hardy 
slipped  away  up  the  stairs,  leaving  them  together.  What 
a  fine,  fresh  world  it  was,  full  of  things  worth  doing  to  do, 
and  things  worth  thinking  about  to  think  about,  and,  she 
added  to  herself,  people  worth  knowing  to  know. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   COLONEL   LOSES  HIS  TEMPER 

HAMPSTEAD  was  an  old-fashioned  town  politi- 
cally. Only  comparatively  few,  men  who  had 
offices,  men  who  had  ambitions  and  men  who 
had  time  for  everything  except  work,  attended  the  ordi- 
nary nominating  caucus  of  either  party.  The  rest  of  the 
male  population  accepted  the  nominations  and  voted  on 
strict  party  lines.  Business  men  occasionally  remarked, 
when  the  assessor's  notice  came  to  them,  that  "taxes  were 
mighty  high  and  city  improvements  mighty  small,"  but 
they  were  too  busy  to  do  more  than  talk.  No  one  had 
ever  hinted  that  the  city  money  might  have  been  spent 
dishonestly  or  even  unwisely.  No  one  had  ever  thought 
much  about  it.  When  the  citizens  of  Hampstead  read 
reports  of  corruption  in  the  large  city  governments  of 
other  sections  of  the  country,  they  smiled  at  each  other 
with  smug  satisfaction.  Nothing  like  that  could  ever 
happen  in  Hampstead,  they  were  sure. 

The  News  and  the  Morning  Register ^  during  the  week 
preceding  the  rival  caucuses,  stated  daily  that  "the  polit- 
ical situation  remained  unchanged."  The  Register,  owned 
and  controlled  by  ex-Congressman  Strutt,  said:  "The 
Hon.  Mr.  Brett  will  be  nominated  again  for  mayor  with- 
out a  dissenting  voice.  Our  opponents  will  probably  rim 
somebody  against  him,  but  Mr.  Brett's  magnificent  record 

223 


224  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

will  make  the  election  a  walk-over."  The  News,  Inde- 
pendent, said:  "The  Hon.  Mr.  Moriarty,  speaking  of  the 
coming  caucus  on  Thursday  night,  stated  that  the  race  was 
still  open.  Those  most  prominently  mentioned  as  candi- 
dates for  mayor  have  been  Captain  McNish,  the  young  and 
popular  attorney,  and  Judge  Morrison.  Either  of  these 
two  men  will  make  it  interesting  for  the  Hon.  Mr.  Brett, 
who  will  of  course  be  renominated.  Some  time  ago  there 
was  some  talk  of  running  Mr.  John  Gilbert,  the  new  man- 
ager of  Hardy  &  Son,  against  Mr.  Brett,  but  nothing  has 
been  heard  of  it  recently."  Hampstead  read  these  re- 
ports and  remarked  casually  that  "they"  were  thinking 
of  running  young  McNish  for  mayor,  although  it  could 
not  have  told  and  did  not  greatly  care  who  "they"  were; 
and  mouthed  the  titles  with  very  undemocratic  satis- 
faction, without  noticing  that  Judge  Morrison  had  not 
been  a  judge  for  nearly  fifteen  years,  that  Billy  McNish 
had  never  been  more  than  lieutenant,  or  asking  why  Mr. 
Brett  and  Mr.  Moriarty  had  been  dignified  with  an  Hon- 
orable. On  election  day  Hampstead  would  vote  if  it  had 
the  time,  but  it  was  much  too  busy  to  think  about  it 
beforehand.  On  the  whole,  Hampstead  would  have 
called  it  a  dull  week,  filled  to  the  full  with  the  usual,  unex- 
citing, money-making,  living-earning  routine. 

Meanwhile  a  small  minority  of  men  were  unusually 
active.  Colonel  Mead's  behavior  was  extraordinary. 
Often  when  they  were  together  during  that  week,  pulling 
their  final  drag-net  for  Hardy  stock  proxies,  Gilbert 
noticed  that  the  Colonel  seemed  absent-minded,  almost 
indifferent,  that  he  chuckled  merrily  to  himself  when 
nothing  in  their  conversation  warranted  merriment,  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  225 

that  he  had  mysterious  engagements  "down  town," — 
extraordinary  proceedings  for  the  Colonel,  whose  time 
was  usually  limitless  and  entirely  at  Jack's  command. 
Of  course  Gilbert  did  not  understand  until  afterwards. 
There  was  only  one  man  in  Hampstead  who  completely 
understood,  and  that  was  Mr.  Moriarty. 

Moriarty  had  conducted  conspiracies  before  and  he 
liked  them.  He  admitted  to  himself,  however,  that  this 
one  was  different.  Usually  his  plotting  concerned  men 
who  were  yearning  for  any  or  every  office  in  sight.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  his  political  career  that  Mr.  Moriarty 
was  planning  to  nominate  an  imwilling  candidate.  In 
spite  of  his  enthusiasm  for  Gilbert,  Moriarty  probably 
would  have  hesitated  to  take  such  a  step  if  he  had  not 
been  persistently  urged  on  by  Colonel  Mead.  As  it  was, 
the  little  Irishman  was  silently  putting  all  his  wires  in 
working  order,  and  he  was  keeping  Gilbert's  name  away 
from  the  newspapers  and  from  the  loose  tongue  of  "com- 
mon talk."  The  Colonel  was  to  arrange  that  Gilbert 
should  not  attend  the  caucus,  and  both  of  them  were  to  see 
him  afterwards  and  convince  him  that,  once  nominated, 
he  would  be  a  traitor  to  his  party  if  he  refused  to  make 
the  campaign.  Colonel  Mead  was  certain  that  Jack's 
scruples  about  his  promise  to  Billy  McNish  had  decided 
him  against  permitting  his  name  to  be  used,  and  the 
veteran  reasoned  that  these  scruples  would  be  satisfied 
if  the  nomination  came  unsought  and  in  the  face  of  a 
definite  refusal. 

Mr.  Strutt  and  Captain  Merrivale  and  Mr.  Brett  met  in 
secret  conferences  often  during  the  week.  It  was  said, 
also,  that  the  quiet  Mr.  Hubbard  was  seen  coming  from 


226  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Mr.  Strutt's  offices  on  a  day  when  the  three  were  closeted 
together  there.  Perhaps  they  were  arranging  Mr.  Brett's 
campaign,  for  they  were  the  leaders  of  his  party;  or  per- 
haps they  talked  of  the  situation  at  Hardy  &  Son's  and 
the  annual  meeting  which  was  set  for  the  Saturday  be- 
tween the  two  political  caucuses;  or  perhaps  Mr.  Hub- 
bard's visit  was  merely  over  legal  matters,  and  the  meeting 
of  the  four  men  only  a  pleasant  chance.  Nobody  ex- 
cept the  four  of  them  knew,  and  nobody  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  it  except  Jimmy  O'Rourke,  who  happened  to  have 
an  errand  in  the  block  which  contained  Mr.  Strutt's 
offices.  Jimmy's  presence,  unfortunately,  was  noticed  by 
Mr.  Hubbard,  and  that  afternoon  the  boy  was  summarily 
dismissed  from  the  employ  of  the  Hubbard  mills.  He 
was  out  of  work  only  a  few  hours,  however,  for  he  found  a 
place  immediately  at  Hardy  &  Son's. 

Sam  Hardy  seemed  to  be  busy  also.  He  spent  two  or 
three  evenings  in  Tareville  with  the  director  whom  the 
Colonel  and  Gilbert  had  awakened  on  Fourth  of  July 
night.  Billy  McNish  was  rushing  feverishly  from  friend 
to  friend  for  support.  A  strange  man  with  a  clean- 
shaven face,  who  said  little,  who  swaggered  with  self- 
satisfaction  and  who  wore  a  diamond  shirt  stud,  came  to 
Hampstead  one  night.  He  was  driven  directly  to  Mr. 
Hubbard's  house,  and  he  returned  in  time  to  catch  the 
eleven  o'clock  train  for  New  York.  No  one  would  have 
known  of  his  visit  if  the  hackman  had  not  been  talkative 
that  night,  as  he  sat  munching  a  sandwich  at  Mr.  Lump- 
kin's night-lunch  counter.  It  was  not  such  a  dull  week 
in  Hampstead  after  all. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  Billy  McNish  sat  alone  in  his 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  227 

law  office.  Through  the  window  he  was  watching  a  group 
of  boys  playing  about  the  edge  of  the  fountain  in  the 
square.  From  the  next  room  came  the  steady  click- 
click  of  his  stenographer's  typewriter.  Billy  knew  that 
he  was  certain  to  be  beaten  at  the  caucus  that  night.  He 
knew  that  Moriarty  was  against  him  and  for  somebody 
else.  John  Gilbert,  Billy  felt  certain.  But,  strangely 
enough,  Billy  was  less  discontented  than  he  had  been 
at  any  time  since  his  first  proposal  to  the  Irishman  on 
Decoration  Day.  It  was  over  now.  He  had  done  the 
best  he  could.  At  least  he  had  been  a  gentleman,  he  said 
to  himself.  The  Republicans  had  had  an  inkling  of 
Moriarty's  plan  and  had  offered  Billy  inducements  to  bolt 
with  his  following  to  Mr.  Brett's  support,  and  Billy  had 
refused  point  blank.  When  he  had  met  Mr.  Brett  for 
Mr.  Hardy,  the  Mayor  had  hinted  at  very  definite  personal 
gain  for  Lawyer  McNish,  if  Mr.  Hardy  could  be  influenced 
to  vote  his  stock  with  Mr.  Brett  at  the  annual  meeting, 
and  Billy  had  brought  the  conference  to  a  close  with  an 
abruptness  that  evidently  amazed  the  banker.  Billy 
had  seen  Clare  Hardy  coming  from  the  Gilbert  house  late 
one  afternoon,  and  he  had  not  followed  his  first  jealous  im- 
pulse to  mention  the  fact  casually  to  Mr.  Hardy.  No,  he 
had  played  fair  from  the  start,  he  told  himself.  And  it 
was  true.  If  Billy  found  part  of  his  contentment  in 
enlarging  to  himself  his  own  goodness,  and  in  considering 
himself  a  kind  of  martyr  to  his  own  honesty,  he  should 
not  be  blamed  for  it.     It  was  part  of  his  temperament. 

The  door  opened  and  Mr.  Moriarty  came  in.  He 
walked  directly  to  the  desk  and  extended  his  hand  with 
the  utmost  friendliness.     Billy  shook  it  heartily.     He  had 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


nothing  against  the  Uttle  Irishman,  he  told  himself  in  a 
kind  of  ecstasy  of  chivalry.  He  had  nothing  against 
anybody.  He  would  be  known  as  "a  good  loser.*'  He 
almost  believed  in  the  part  as  he  played  it. 

"OiVe  just  been  hearin',"  began  Mr.  Moriarty,  "that 
ye'd  likely  work  against  us  if  ye  ain't  nominated  to- 
night. I  want  to  tell  the  man  that  told  me  so,  that  he's 
a  liar.  Faith,  he's  bigger  than  Oi  am  an'  Oi  want  moral 
support." 

Billy  laughed. 

"Go  ahead,  Moriarty,"  he  said.     "You've  got  it." 

The  Irishman  took  two  cigars  from  his  bulging  vest 
pocket,  one  short,  shapeless  and  black;  the  other  long, 
shapely  and  brown.  With  something  like  a  sigh,  he 
handed  the  short  one  to  Billy  and  stuck  the  long  cigar  in 
his  own  mouth.  But  he  did  not  light  it.  A  moment  later 
he  absent-mindedly  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 

"Have  one  of  mine,"  suggested  Billy,  "and  tell  me 
about  it." 

"About  the  se-gar?"  asked  Mr.  Moriarty,  rubbing  his 
chin  reflectively  to  hide  his  embarrassment.  "That's 
politics.  'Tis  my  only  graft.  For  a  month  before  eliction 
I  swear  off  buyin'  se-gars.  Ivery  man  that  wants  any- 
thing is  suddenly  as  generous  as  if  he  was  the  happy  father 
av  a  hundred  brand-new  babies,  an'  I  was  the  only  wan 
congratulatin'  him.  But  there's  a  difference.  Take  them 
two  se-gars.  Old  Prifesser  Gunter  comes  up  to  me  an' 
he's  a  real  gentleman,  the  Prifesser.  An'  he  says,  '  Good- 
mornin',  Mr.  Moriarty,'  an'  he  slips  the  nice  little  black 
wan  into  me  fist.  The  Prifesser's  a  Republican,  but  he 
loikes  friends.     Some  of  his  own  party,  Brett  an'  that 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  229 

crowd,  are  down  on  him;  he's  been  runnin'  the  school  so 
long.  Then  bym-bye  up  comes  Martin  Jethro,  that  wants 
to  stay  in  the  Council.  He  slaps  me  on  the  back.  *  Hello, 
Mike!'  he  says.  'Have  wan  o'  my  se-gars.'  An'  I  takes 
the  long  brown  wan,  while  he  tells  me  how  much  it  didn't 
cost." 

"But  what  are  you  keeping  it  for?"  asked  Billy. 

"If  we're  beaten  I  might  want  to  commit  suicide,"  said 
Mr.  Moriarty  soberly. 

Billy  smiled  and  waited. 

"Oi'll  tell  ye  something  on  the  Q.  T."  Mr.  Moriarty 
chose  his  words  slowly  and  carefully.  "Oi  think — av 
coorse  Oi  dinnaw — but  Oi  think  that  the  caucus  '11  nomy- 
nate  Jack  Gilbert  to-night.  Oi  want  you  to  withdraw 
an'  make  it  a  sure  thing.  Some  av  thim  are  wantin'  the 
old  Judge  an'  not  a  young  man  at  all." 

"No,"  said  Billy,  with  that  air  of  complete  decision 
which  few  but  indecisive  men  ever  attain,  "  I  won't  with- 
draw and  I  won't  bolt.    That  '11  have  to  do." 

"An'  ye'll  stick  to  that?"  Moriarty  asked  doubtfully. 

"Of  course  I'll  stick  to  it,"  retorted  Billy,  irritably,  who, 
like  many  other  people,  was  most  sensitive  at  the  weakest 
spot  in  his  character. 

Moriarty  nodded  with  conciliatory  approval. 

"  Good  luck  to  ye,"  he  added  as  he  left  the  room. 

Billy  arose  and  stretched  his  short  fat  arms  and  yawned. 
It  was  John  Gilbert  then.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
fumbled  aimlessly  with  the  papers  on  his  desk.  There 
was  nothing  much  to  do  at  the  office,  nothing  that  he 
couldn't  let  go  until  to-morrow.  He  had  not  seen  Clare 
Hardy  in  four  days.    He  had  not  wished  to  see  her, 


230  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

strangely  enough,  while  there  was  still  a  fragment  of 
hope.  Now  that  defeat  was  certain  he  wished  to  see  her 
more,  it  seemed  to  him,  than  he  had  ever  wished  to  see 
her  in  his  life.  He  told  himself  that  he  ought  to  wait 
until  to-morrow,  when  the  thing  was  done  with  and  when 
he  could  dismiss  it  all  as  ancient  history.  But  he  wanted 
to  see  her  now,  to  tell  her  all  about  it  and  to  have  her 
sympathy.  Billy  was  one  of  those  men  who  double  a 
woman's  burden  without  measurably  lightening  their 
own. 

He  left  the  office  in  charge  of  his  stenographer  and 
climbed  West  Hill,  preparing  upon  his  face  a  look  of 
martyred  melancholy  lighted  by  a  sad  smile.  As  he 
neared  the  comer  below  the  Hardy  house,  he  saw  the 
familiar  slender  figure  emerge  from  the  gateway  and  turn 
up  the  hill  ahead  of  him.  He  walked  faster  and  whistled 
a  trio  of  notes  they  had  used  for  years  as  a  signal.  At  the 
sound  she  turned  and,  seeing  him,  she  waved  and  came 
swiftly  back.  They  met  at  the  gate.  Billy  protested 
violently  that  she  must  not  delay  her  calls  for  him.  Miss 
Hardy  declared  that  she  was  tempted  to  take  him  at  his 
word  after  the  way  in  which  he  had  neglected  her.  Then, 
entirely  satisfied,  they  turned  leisurely  up  the  walk  and 
found  comfortably  unconventional  seats  on  the  veranda 
steps. 

"Oh,  you're  always  busy,"  Miss  Hardy  asserted. 
"Whenever  men  haven't  a  shred  of  decent  excuse,  they 
always  say  they've  been  busy.  But  what  makes  you  look 
so  downhearted?" 

"I  don't  and  I'm  not,"  Billy  replied,  using  the  sad 
smile  and  looking  more  downhearted  than  ever. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  231 

"You  look  as  if  you'd  lost  your  last  friend,"  said  the 
girl. 

"No,  I  think  I  have  one  left.''  Billy  smiled  at  her 
mournfully. 

Miss  Hardy  looked  at  him  intently,  obviously  per- 
plexed.    Then,  as  she  thought,  she  changed  the  subject. 

"Let  me  see,"  she  said,  "it's  to-night  you're  to  be 
nominated  for  mayor.  I  suppose  you've  a  speech  all 
prepared." 

Billy  laughed  bitterly.  Of  course  she  thought  that. 
Everybody  thought  that.  That  was  the  worst  of  Mori- 
arty's  silence. 

"I  wish  I  might  hear  it,"  she  rattled  on,  mistaking  his 
laughter  for  good  humor.  "Can't  you  smuggle  me  in 
somehow?" 

Since  they  had  met  at  the  gate  Billy  had  changed  his 
mind  about  telling  her.  A  man  was  a  cad,  he  told  him- 
self, who  went  around  tattling  his  troubles.  But  this 
was  too  much  for  him. 

"The  joke  is,"  he  remarked,  trying  suddenly  to  be 
jovial,  "that  they're  going  to  nominate  Jack  Gilbert." 

Miss  Hardy  started  in  her  surprise. 

"That's — impossible,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

No,  he  assured  her,  it  was  true.  Then,  little  by  little,  he 
told  her  the  whole  story  from  the  first  mention  of  Gilbert's 
political  ambitions  on  Fourth  of  July  night.  He  told  her 
what  he  had  heard  Colonel  Mead  and  Mr.  Moriarty  say 
outside  the  Gilbert  house  a  week  or  so  before,  and  what 
Mr.  Moriarty  had  been  doing  in  his  silent  campaign,  and, 
last  of  all,  what  Moriarty  had  told  him  that  very  afternoon. 
Miss  Hardy  listened  breathlessly,  trying  to  understand. 


232  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"It  doesn't  matter  much,  of  course,"  Billy  concluded,  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  is  trying  to  be  brave  under  difficult 
circumstances.  "Jack  would  make  a  good  mayor,  I 
guess." 

"  It's  a  shame,  Billy.  I'm  terribly  sorry."  Miss  Hardy 
spoke  with  impulsive  sympathy.  "I  thought  you  said 
that  he  promised  to  help  you." 

"He  did,  but  of  course  neither  of  us  had  an  idea  then 
that  he  was  a  possibility."  Billy's  defense  of  Gilbert  did 
not  seem  very  convincing. 

Miss  Hardy  sat  thinking  for  a  few  seconds. 

"Have  you  said  anything  to  him  about  it?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Billy,  throwing  his  head 
back  with  an  independence  he  did  not  feel.  "I'm  not 
begging  my  way." 

"And  he  hasn't  said  a  word  to  you?"  asked  the  girl. 

"No.  You  see,  the  last  time  we  talked  we  didn't  quite 
agree  about  some  things,  and  I  suppose  that's  made  him 
feel  different.     I  don't  really  know  what  to  think." 

"  That's  no  excuse  for  him,"  said  Miss  Hardy,  and  then 
she  was  silent. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  waste  your  time  hearing 
about  my  troubles,"  insisted  Billy  frankly,  satisfied  now 
that  all  his  troubles  had  been  told.  "I  was  just  on  the 
way  to  the  house  anyhow.  You  go  on  and  make  your 
calls." 

After  Miss  Hardy  had  spent  some  minutes  saying  all 
the  cheering  things  she  could  think  of,  she  acquiesced  and 
they  went  out  together.  When  he  left  her  at  the  gate  of 
the  big  house,  Billy  walked  vaingloriously  straight  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  233 

whistled  buoyantly  and  hoped  that  she  might  turn  and 
admire  his  courage.  He  knew  that  he  was  posing  and  he 
cursed  himself  for  it,  but  he  did  not  stop  his  whistling  or 
his  strutting  or  his  hoping  that  she  would  notice.  But 
Clare  Hardy  did  not  turn.  She  was  hurrying  along  to- 
ward Mrs.  Gilbert's  with  the  "inevitable"  ringing  in  her 
ears.  Yes,  he  would  win.  He  always  won,  and  for  the 
moment  she  hated  him  for  it.  But  this  was  winning  un- 
fairly. If  John  Gilbert  deliberately  went  back  on  his 
word  to  a  friend  for  the  sake  of  selfish  gain,  the  entire 
superstructure  of  the  man  toppled.  She  had  granted  him 
honesty  and  strength,  but  this  was  not  honest.  It  was 
not  like  the  man  as  she  thought  of  him.  If  he  was  dis- 
honest in  this,  might  he  not  be  dishonest  in  that  miserable, 
puzzling  struggle  at  the  shops?  Perhaps  she  had  been 
wrong  in  advising  her  father.  Perhaps  what  Gilbert  had 
told  her  at  the  parsonage  was  untrue,  a  part  of  a  trick  by 
which  he  alone  would  gain.  If  he  took  this  nomination 
she  could  never  trust  him,  she  told  herself,  or  her  own 
judgment  again.  Another  man  might  do  a  dozen  worse 
things  and  still  be  attractive,  but  with  John  Gilbert  she 
felt  that  strong  truth  was  the  foundation  of  everything. 
That  gone,  there  was  nothing  left  but  sordid  ruin.  There 
must  be  some  mistake,  she  tried  to  convince  herself,  some 
misunderstanding.  So  much  depended  upon  him.  To 
Clare  Hardy  anything  imsettled  was  unbearable.  And 
she  stood  at  last  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's  door,  with  the  convic- 
tion that  she  must  do  something  quickly,  that  she  must 
learn  certainly  that  John  Gilbert  was  or  was  not  what  she 
had  thought  him. 

When  Gilbert  said   good-night  to  the  watchman  at 


234  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Hardy's  that  night  and  walked  home,  he  confessed  to 
himself  that  he  was  tired.  Even  his  great  frame  and 
steady  nerves  were  beginning  to  feel  the  strain  of  double 
responsibility  and  worry.  His  head  was  full  of  shop 
odds  and  ends  as  he  sat  down  at  the  supper  table.  Mrs. 
Gilbert  watched  him  solicitously.  She  noticed  every 
wrinkle  that  creased  his  forehead  where  his  bushy  eye- 
brows met,  and  every  line  about  his  mouth.  Suddenly 
she  gave  a  little  cry — such  as  memory,  when  it  jumps  sud- 
denly out  of  the  dark,  startles  from  elderly  people — and 
hurried  into  the  sitting-room.  She  came  back  with  an 
envelope  in  her  hand.  Gilbert  took  it  wonderingly. 
When  he  had  read  the  little  note  it  inclosed,  he  pushed 
back  his  chair  and,  asking  her  to  keep  the  rest  of  the  sup- 
per standing  for  a  few  moments,  he  took  his  hat  and 
strode  out  and  down  the  street.  He  turned  in  at  the  big 
house,  and,  asking  permission  of  the  obviously  surprised 
Mr.  McNish,  he  went  directly  through  the  house  and  out 
into  the  garden. 

The  great  hydrangea  bushes  that  lined  the  first  terrace 
were  loaded  with  bending  bloom,  and  welcomed  him  back 
into  the  wonderland  of  his  boyhood.  Great  bunches  of 
purple  grapes  hung  temptingly  from  trellises  like  those  he 
had  climbed.  In  the  long  beds  of  green,  occasional  blos- 
soms still  remained  to  conjure  up  sweet  memories  for  him 
with  their  odors.  Over  at  the  left  was  the  evergreen  tree 
from  which  he  had  fallen,  and  Jerry  the  gardener  had 
lectured  him  about  the  limb  he  had  broken  from  the  tree, 
before  either  of  them  knew  whether  the  boy's  limbs  were 
broken  or  not.  But  now  the  grown-up  boy  scarcely  more 
than  noticed  any  of  these  things.     He  pushed  on  by  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  235 

straight  pathway  over  terrace  after  terrace,  past  the  old 
apple  tree  hanging  fresh-cheeked  pippins  within  his  reach, 
on  toward  the  little  clump  of  trees  beyond,  his  heart  beat- 
ing fast  although  he  had  not  hurried. 

She  rose  to  meet  him,  her  gray  dress  showing  against 
the  dusk  of  the  trees.  It  was  hard  for  her  to  begin,  but 
he  had  been  summoned  and  he  waited  for  her. 

"I  didn't  know  where  else  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

Her  face  in  the  half  darkness  was  very  serious,  and  her 
eyes  seemed  to  search  his  intently. 

"There  couldn't  be  a  better  place,"  was  all  he  said.  He 
felt  instinctively  that  something  was  wrong,  that  she  was 
troubled.  Perhaps  he  might  help  her.  He  waited  eagerly 
to  hear,  knowing  in  his  heart  that  whatever  she  asked  he 
would  do. 

"I  won't  keep  you  long."  Miss  Hardy  was  trying  a 
new  beginning.     ''I  don't  want  to  make  you  late." 

"Late?  What  for?  I  don't  care  if  I  am,  but  what 
for?" 

"Why,  the  caucus,  of  course."  Clare  Hardy's  eyes  did 
not  leave  his  face.  If  she  expected  to  see  shame  and  em- 
barrassment she  was  disappointed.  Instead  he  smiled 
good-humoredly. 

"That  is  to-night,  isn't  it,"  he  said.  "I'd  clean  for- 
gotten it.     I'm  not  going." 

"Forgotten?"  asked  the  girl  with  growing  excitement. 
"Not  going?" 

"No.  The  Colonel — Colonel  Mead,  you  know — made 
me  promise  to  be  at  home  to-night.  He's  coming  up. 
I'm  not  much  on  politics  anyhow.  Suppose  I  ought  to 
have  gone." 


236  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  But" — the  words  stumbled  in  their  haste  to  be  said — 
''but — you're  a  candidate,  aren't  you?" 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  gravely.  He  was  becoming 
decidedly  puzzled  at  her  insistent  questions. 

"  They  talked  of  it  a  little— not  much.     But  I  couldn't." 

"Why?"     Miss  Hardy  waited  breathlessly. 

"  Oh,  a  good  many  reasons.  I  didn't  have  the  time.  I 
don't  know  the  game.  I'd  be  a  lovely  mayor,  wouldn't 
I,  fresh  from  overalls  and  machines?  Then  there  was  a 
bigger  reason  than  all  the  rest,  a  personal  reason  that " 

"  You'd  promised  Billy,"  broke  in  Clare  Hardy  triumph- 
antly. 

Gilbert  stared  at  her  incredulously. 

"How  did  you  know  that?"  he  asked.  "What's  up 
anyhow?  " 

"Billy  told  me,"  cried  the  girl  and  then,  her  tongue 
loosened,  she  told  him  all  she  knew. 

"He  was  too  proud,  don't  you  see?"  she  added  at  the 
end.     "  He  wouldn't  tell  you  and  so  I've  done  it  for  him.'* 

Gilbert  had  listened,  his  face  growing  more  stem.  They 
were  going  to  nominate  him  against  his  will.  They 
wanted  him  enough  for  that.  The  old  struggle  came 
back  to  him,  but  he  silenced  it  quickly.  That  was  set- 
tled. He  had  learned  something  else,  harder  to  bear  than 
any  little  sacrifice  of  place  or  power.  She  was  doing  this 
for  Billy.  It  was  Billy's  success  she  wished,  not  his  nor 
anybody  else's.  Of  course  it  was.  He  had  known  it  all 
the  time,  but  he  knew  now  that  he  had  refused  to  think 
about  it,  that  he  had  tried  not  to  believe  it.  He  looked 
at  his  watch  in  the  dim  light  as  she  finished. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Hardy,"  he  said  a  little 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  237 

wearily.  '^I  guess  I'd  better  go  to  that  meeting  after  all. 
As  you  said,  I  might  be  late.     Good-night." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  the  girl. 

He  turned  where  the  path  led  back  into  the  garden. 

"Just  make  it  right,"  he  said  simply,  and  he  was  soon 
lost  in  the  growing  darkness.  Clare  Hardy  went  into  the 
summer-house  and  threw  herself  upon  the  long  seat.  It 
was  all  "  right "  now.  He  could  be  depended  upon.  That 
was  far  more  important,  it  seemed  to  her  now,  than  being 
mayor  or  "bossing"  a  shop.  She  wondered  what  he 
would  do.  Perhaps  Billy  would  be  nominated,  after  all. 
She  clapped  her  hands  together  at  the  thought.  She  de- 
cided that  she  was  growing  to  be  a  great  diplomatic  suc- 
cess. But — Gilbert  looked  tired,  she  suddenly  remem- 
bered. 

The  hall  was  crowded.  The  benches  overflowed  into 
the  aisles  and  the  aisles  into  the  hallway,  in  choppy  waves 
of  noisy  humanity,  surging,  jeering,  scuffling  its  feet, 
pounding  its  hands,  shouting  jokes  at  nearby  neighbors, 
howling  for  action.  Even  when  the  meeting  was  called 
to  order  there  were  familiar  cries  and  good-natured 
epithets  hurled  at  the  committee  chairman,  from  the 
swaying  mass  below  him.  There  was  more  quiet  later, 
when  the  venerable  judge,  who  had  once  been  mayor  of 
Hampstead,  made  his  short  speech  as  chairman  of  the 
meeting.  When  the  cheers  that  followed  his  words  had 
ceased  to  echo,  whispers  ran  along  the  crushing  lines  and 
men  who  had  been  joking  with  each  other  before,  became 
humorously  stern-faced  and  antagonistic.  At  the  rear 
the  little  Irishman,  who  had  early  packed  the  best  seats 


238  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

with  the  men  he  could  depend  upon,  and  who  knew  ex- 
actly how  every  individual  except  a  few  would  vote,  stood 
silently  chewing  a  cigar.  Each  of  the  three  nominations 
for  mayor  was  followed  by  applause.  Moriarty  smiled. 
Then  the  crowd  relaxed  to  cast  the  first  ballot. 

In  the  noise  and  confusion  no  one  heard  the  slight  com- 
motion at  the  rear.  No  one,  not  even  Mr.  Moriarty, 
chewing  his  cigar  happily  and  talking  quietly  with  Colonel 
Mead,  saw  the  broad,  erect  figure  push  its  way  forward 
until  it  was  half  way  to  the  platform.  Suddenly  Mr. 
Moriarty  started  and  pointed.  The  Colonel  began  imme- 
diate pursuit,  wrathfully  hurling  himself  through  the 
crowd  which,  because  it  understood  only  its  own  dis- 
comfort, swore  at  him  and  tried  to  stop  him.  But  Mori- 
arty, hesitating  only  a  second,  bent  over  to  the  man  next 
to  him.  A  second  later  there  rose  a  straggling  cheer  for 
John  Gilbert,  which  grew  in  volume  until  good-humored 
bedlam  reigned,  and  nervous  men  covered  their  ears  with 
their  hands.  Gilbert,  turning  upon  them  from  the  front, 
raised  his  hand  for  silence.  For  an  instant  the  noise 
diminished  and  then,  supported  from  the  rear,  it  increased 
once  more.  Gilbert  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sat  down 
upon  the  low  stage,  noting  quickly,  as  he  waited,  that  those 
who  were  shouting  for  him  looked  like  a  large  majority 
over  those  who  sat  silent. 

His  appearance  was  an  equal  surprise  to  all,  but  every- 
one believed  that  it  was  part  of  Moriarty's  plan  to  sweep 
the  caucus  without  a  chance  of  failure.  The  hoarse  cries 
that  the  little  leader  had  started  had  settled  back  into  a 
regular,  tireless  rhythm  accompanied  with  the  stamping  of 
feet,  when  the  Colonel  at  last  reached  Gilbert's  side.    The 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


men  in  all  parts  of  the  hall  craned  their  necks  to  watch  the 
conference,  and  the  cheering  diminished.  Then  it  sud- 
denly stopped  short.  Gilbert  had  risen  to  his  feet,  his 
great  body  looming  high  above  the  Colonel  and  his  hand 
on  the  old  veteran's  shoulder.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated, 
as  if  the  words  were  slowly  forming  themselves  into  line, 
and  when  he  spoke  he  drawled  even  more  than  usual. 

"I've  just  found  out  what  was  going  on,"  he  said,  after 
bowing  to  the  chairman.  ''I'd  like  to  ask  the  man  who 
suggested  me  to  withdraw  my  name,  for  I  won't  take  the 
nomination  if  I  get  it."  At  this  point  Colonel  Mead, 
whose  face  was  red  with  suppressed  anger  and  disap- 
pointment, tried  to  interrupt,  but  Gilbert  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him.  "I  told  my  friends  that  long  ago,  and  I 
thought  it  was  all  settled.  I  told  them,  too,  that  I 
thought  the  man  to  be  named  was  Alderman  McNish." 
There  was  a  short,  sharp  burst  of  enthusiasm  from  the 
left.  "I'm  going  to  cast  a  ballot  for  him  now,  and  if 
he's  nominated  I'm  going  to  work  for  him.  I  guess 
that's  all." 

The  crowd  alternately  cheered  and  stared.  It  wasn't 
much  of  a  speech,  someone  said  afterwards,  but  if  Gilbert 
had  recited  the  alphabet  he  couldn't  have  made  more  of  a 
sensation. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished  Gilbert  turned  to  the  Colonel 
and,  slipping  his  arm  through  his  friend's,  he  tried  to  lead 
him  back  toward  the  rear  of  the  hall.  But  Colonel  Mead 
was  not  made  of  the  stuff  that  gives  up  readily,  and  he 
was  angry.  His  heart  had  been  set  on  the  success  of  this 
plan.  To  have  it  thwarted  at  the  last  moment  by  the 
man  for  whom  he  had  labored,  made  him  lose  control  of 


UO  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

himself.  He  cast  off  Gilbert's  arm  and  turned  again 
toward  the  swaying,  hooting,  cheering  crowd.  But  Mr. 
Moriarty  was  ahead  of  him.  Mr.  Moriarty  always  thought 
first  of  the  party  and  of  his  power  over  it.  Gilbert's 
speech  had  suddenly  made  his  supporters,  who  had  been 
eternally  solid  for  him,  unsettled  and  malleable.  Any- 
thing might  happen  unless  a  firm  hand  caught  them  in 
time.  Almost  before  the  shouting  of  Billy's  friends  had 
ceased,  the  man  who  had  nominated  Gilbert  had  with- 
drawn his  name  and  seconded  that  of  Alderman  McNish. 
Then  a  miniature  pandemonium  arose,  and  it  was  this 
that  the  Colonel  faced  as  he  vainly  tried  to  get  the  chair- 
man's attention.  Someone  pulled  him  into  a  seat  at 
last,  and  there,  cursing  the  chairman,  the  meeting,  and 
most  of  all,  John  Gilbert,  he  heard  the  vote  announced 
which  overwhelmingly  nominated  Billy  on  the  first  ballot. 

"They  know  the  game,"  remarked  Moriarty,  pointing 
to  the  crowd  about  Billy  McNish  as  the  meeting  ad- 
journed, to  Colonel  Mead,  who  was  passing.  ''  If  ye  want 
anything  out  of  a  new-laid,  successful  politician,  ye  want 
to  get  after  it  quick.  He'll  give  'em  the  whole  town  now 
he's  so  happy.  Hard  luck,  sir,  wasn't  it?  How'd  he  get 
the  tip?" 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head  like  an  angry  dog  and 
growled. 

Billy  and  Gilbert  met  near  the  doorway  some  minutes 
later,  the  one  flushed  with  unexpected  triumph,  the 
other  tired-looking  but  smiling. 

"Let's  get  something  to  eat;  I'm  hungry,"  drawled 
Jack  wearily  after  the  two  had  shaken  hands,  but  Billy 
hesitated  a  moment.     He  craved  even  more  congratula- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  241 

tion.  As  he  looked  around,  the  Colonel  appeared  beside 
them. 

''Get  out  o' my  way,  John  Gilbert,"  cried  the  veteran, 
suddenly  enraged  at  seeing  the  two  together.  ''I'm 
through  with  you.  God  curse  me  if  I  ever  lift  a  foiger 
for  you  again." 

Gilbert's  face  turned  white,  and  his  eyes  burned  black 
with  such  fierce  anger  that  the  Colonel  flinched  uncon- 
sciously. Then  Jack  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
away,  Billy  following. 

The  Colonel  shivered  as  if  cold  water  had  been  dashed 
upon  him.  He  was  suddenly  sobered.  He  looked  after 
Jack  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  hurried  out  and  up  the 
street. 

"I'm  an  old  fool,"  he  repeated  pitifully  to  himself. 
"An  old  fool." 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  SUMMONS 


IT  was  Saturday  morning  at  Hardy  &  Son's.  Out- 
side in  the  street  an  occasional  covered  team 
dashed  through  the  beating  rain.  Infrequent  soli- 
tary pedestrians  hurried  by,  gripping  umbrellas  that  quiv- 
ered and  rattled  in  the  wind.  At  the  corner  entrance 
imder  the  half  shelter  of  the  doorway,  a  stray  dog  crept 
wet  and  shivering.  Within  toiled  the  vast,  reorganized 
machine,  throbbing,  grinding,  shrieking,  whirring,  hum- 
ming. Scattered  through  it  was  the  usual  human  chaos 
of  square- jawed  determination,  low-browed  ignorance, 
scowling  passion,  timid  subservience,  stolid  indifference 
and  alert  ambition.  The  mills  seemed  cheerier  to-day  on  ac- 
count of  the  rain  outside,  and  the  clock  ran  slower  because 
work  ended  at  noon.  These  things  alone  seemed  to  make 
the  day  different  from  other  days,  until  Gilbert  brought 
a  group  of  men  into  the  shops — outside  men  who  wore 
good  clothes  and  who  suggested  the  annual  meeting  to 
some  of  the  older  workmen.  The  group  passed  rapidly 
on,  listening  to  the  big  superintendent's  explanations  of 
the  changes  that  had  been  made,  to  his  short  orders  to 
the  men,  and  to  his  ready  answers  to  sharp  questions 
put  by  members  of  the  party.  And  often,  the  great 
creature  of  men  and  machines,  which  seemed  to  purr 
contentedly    about   the   little    cluster    of   stockholders, 

242 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  243 

seemed  suddenly  to  crouch  behind  them  when  their 
backs  were  turned,  and  to  snarl  with  sneers  and  covert 
hatred.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  they  were  for- 
gotten, and  the  clock  ran  slower  and  slower  toward  the 
anticipated  half-holiday. 

Gilbert  left  the  party  of  visitors  at  the  door  which  led 
into  the  offices,  and  returned  with  a  sigh  of  relief  to  the 
shops.  He  had  done  all  that  he  could  do.  The  issue 
remained  with  Sam  Hardy.  Jack  had  given  the  Colonel 
a  proxy  for  his  stock  along  with  the  others.  He  was 
certain  that  his  own  appearance  at  the  meeting  would 
only  aggravate  Mr.  Hardy's  feeling  against  them  all. 
To  the  stockholders,  moreover,  the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Mc- 
Nish  represented  their  side  of  the  struggle.  Except  for 
Jack's  hasty  trip  to  Pittsfield  and  Springfield,  he  had 
been  a  silent  partner  in  the  movement.  He  felt,  too, 
that  he  could  not  add  anything  to  the  Colonel's  fighting 
grit  and  ready,  picturesque  speech,  or  to  the  elder  Mc- 
Nish's  diplomacy.  After  all,  the  result  depended  upon 
Sam  Hardy,  and  'Hhe  old  man"  seemed  to  be  obdurate. 
Billy  McNish,  flushed  with  his  success  and  eager  to  make 
amends,  had  gone  confidently  to  Mr.  Hardy  the  day 
before.  He  had  returned  utterly  disconsolate.  "The 
old  man"  had  evidently  been  drinking,  Billy  said.  He 
had  talked  wildly.  He  had  seemed  hopelessly  suspicious 
of  everybody.  He  had  even  suggested  that  Billy  had 
turned  against  him.  Billy's  elevator-like  spirits  had 
descended  to  the  deepest  sub-cellar  of  depression.  And 
the  outcome  of  the  meeting,  with  all  that  it  meant  to 
Hardy  &  Son,  remained  a  mystery. 

As  Gilbert  tramped  down  the  long  lines  of  men  and 


244  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

machinery,  they  seemed  to  him  a  kind  of  supporting 
phalanx  of  power.  These  were  the  evidences  of  the  work 
he  had  begun,  and  the  foundation  of  his  hopes.  The  men 
were  beginning  to  beUeve  in  him,  to  beUeve  in  his  abiUty 
to  do  things,  and  to  beUeve  that  he  meant  well  by  them. 
He  meant  that  they  should  share  in  the  success,  if  suc- 
cess came.  But  there  was  no  time  now  for  day  dream- 
ing. From  a  dozen  different  corners  the  work  was  calling 
him.  It  was  not  until  nearly  an  hour  later  that  he  went 
reluctantly  up  to  his  little  office  to  dictate  some  letters. 
And  always  that  momentous  meeting,  silent  behind  closed 
doors,  seemed  to  threaten  him  and  his  work  and  his 
hopes. 

No  one  but  Sam  Hardy  himself  knew  how  he  suffered 
during  that  week.  When  his  momentary  exultation 
over  Clare's  discovery  had  passed,  his  old  weakness  re- 
turned. Each  day  that  brought  the  meeting  nearer 
seemed  to  tighten  the  strain.  Often,  dizzy,  tottering, 
he  caught  the  back  of  a  chair  or  the  edge  of  a  table  and 
held  himself  upright,  his  teeth  clenched,  breathing  rapidly, 
his  brain  in  a  whirling  agony.  At  night  he  lay  awake, 
until  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  cry  out  with  terror 
at  something,  he  knew  not  what,  that  threatened  him 
out  of  the  dark.  He  tried  in  vain  to  steady  himself,  to 
think  and  to  plan,  and  he  beat  his  head  with  his  hands 
in  wild  hopelessness.  Even  if  he  could  hold  the  balance 
of  power  at  the  meeting  he  could  see  nothing  beyond  it 
except  ruin.  And  yet,  with  the  meeting  as  a  goal,  he 
braced  himself  and  beat  back  his  weakness  and  hysteria 
with  something  of  his  old  dogged  determination. 

As  he  faced  them,  that  Saturday  morning,  his  cheeks 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  245 

were  bloodless  and  flabby,  and  his  body  sagged  shakily, 
held  up  only  by  the  tense  support  of  his  will.  But  his 
brain  seemed  to  be  cleared  for  action,  and  his  eyes  were 
unnaturally  bright,  as  they  flashed  a  last  glance  about 
the  room  before  calling  the  meeting  to  order. 

No  such  gathering  of  Hardy  &  Son's  stockholders  had 
been  known  in  years.  Usually  Mr.  Hardy  himself 
had  controlled  the  stock  at  each  meeting.  Usually 
he  had  accepted  his  own  report  and  had  elected  a  board 
of  directors  of  his  own  choosing.  Usually  this  board  of 
directors  at  a  subsequent  meeting  had  elected  the  officers 
whom  Mr.  Hardy  suggested.  Usually  the  meeting  had 
been  a  formal  farce,  but  to-day  it  looked  more  like  melo- 
drama, as  Billy  McNish  remarked  to  a  stockholder  from 
Albany,  who  had  come  to  Hampstead  to  add  his  strength 
to  the  Colonel's  side.  There  were  between  twenty  and 
thirty  men  in  the  room,  divided  naturally,  by  the  long 
director's  table,  into  two  factions.  There  was  the  Colonel, 
of  course,  leaning  on  one  side  of  the  table,  grumbling 
loudly  to  two  or  three  Hampstead  men  about  the  way 
in  which  Jack  Gilbert  had  upset  his  plans  at  the  Thurs- 
day night  caucus.  The  Colonel  had  manufactured  humor 
out  of  his  own  irritation,  and  even  joked  with  Billy  and 
the  elder  McNish  about  it. 

"Thar  wuz  Moriarty  an'  me,"  he  remarked,  as  if  he 
had  entirely  forgotten  Hardy  &  Son's  crisis,  ''thinkin' 
we  wuz  pullin'  wires,  an'  all  the  time  we  wuz  buttin'  a 
stone  wall  like  a  pair  o'  fool  goats.  An'  now  Moriarty 
sez  I  can't  talk  about  his  red  hair  again,  'cause  he  sez  I  got 
redder-headed  thet  night  than  he's  ever  been  in  his  life." 

Across  the  table,  the  opposing  group  surrounding  Mr. 


246  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Brett  and  Captain  Merrivale  opened  to  greet  ex-Con- 
gressman Strutt,  who  shook  hands  twice  around  with 
everybody  and  smiled  his  customary  smile  and  repeated 
remarks  about  the  weather.  Sam  Hardy's  eyes  nar- 
rowed and  his  jaw  set  angrily,  as  he  watched  the  ex- 
Congressman,  whom  he  had  once  counted  among  his 
friends,  join  the  men  who  were  trying  to  take  his  shops 
from  him.  Alone  by  the  window,  still  independent  and 
undecided,  Mr.  Tubb,  who  had  refused  to  join  either 
party  for  fear  of  alienating  his  patrons  in  the  other,  sat 
combing  his  thin  beard  with  his  fingers  and  wrinkling 
his  thin,  sallow  face  as  he  eyed  his  double-chinned,  side- 
whiskered,  prosperous  rival,  Mr.  Butterson  of  the  Uni- 
versal Emporium.  Mr.  Tubb  had  never  heard  that  Mr. 
Butterson  held  stock  in  Hardy  &  Son,  and  he  was  evi- 
dently aggrieved  at  the  discovery.  Certainly  Mr.  But- 
terson, fat  and  sober  and  blinking  as  usual,  was  there, 
sitting  beside  the  director  from  Tareville,  suggestively 
near  the  president's  desk.  Others  seemed  to  be  inter- 
ested, for  a  number  of  men  in  both  groups  about  the 
director's  table  whispered  and  looked  and  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  the  silent,  solitary  pair. 

The  meeting  came  to  order  long  enough  for  Mr.  Brett, 
in  his  capacity  as  the  secretary  of  the  company,  to  begin 
making  record  of  the  stock  represented.  Then  the  talk- 
ing began  again,  subdued  now  and  more  desultory. 

"That  paper's  no  good.  Colonel  Mead,"  remarked  Mr. 
Brett,  tossing  one  of  the  Colonel's  proxies  back  to  him 
without  looking  up. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  it,  except  that  it's  made  out 
to  me?"  asked  the  Colonel  in  the  silence  that  followed. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  247 

Mr.  Brett  smiled  satirically  as  he  picked  out  a  sheet 
from  one  of  the  piles  before  him. 

"  Only  this,"  he  said,  referring  to  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
"Since  the  gentleman  gave  you  the  proxy  he  has  sold 
his  stock  to  Captain  Merrivale." 

The  Colonel  thumbed  his  useless  proxy  for  a  few  sec- 
onds. Then  he  turned  suddenly  upon  Merrivale  who 
sat  self-consciously  tilting  back  in  a  chair. 

"How  much  did  yer  friend  Mr.  Hubbard  pay  fer  thet 
stock?''  he  asked. 

Captain  Merrivale's  face  flushed  red,  and  he  started  to 
protest  angrily.     The  Colonel  interrupted  him. 

"That's  all  right,  Captain  Merrivale,"  he  remarked 
soothingly.  "I  jest  natch'rally  wanted  to  see  the  flush 
o'  shame.  Ye  kin  alluz  tell  a  steer  by  the  owner's  brand 
onto  it." 

Captain  Merrivale  leaped,  blustering,  to  his  feet,  but 
Mr.  Hardy  rapped  for  order. 

"Sit  down,"  he  growled.  "No  personalities.  I'm 
running  this  meeting." 

It  was  the  Colonel's  frank  declaration  of  war.  Mr. 
Hardy  saw  the  danger  he  had  emphasized.  The  director 
from  Tareville  leaned  over  to  whisper  to  Mr.  Butterson, 
who  inclined  his  head  and  sighed  noisily,  as  if  the  burden 
he  was  carrying  was  too  heavy  for  mortal  man  to  bear. 
Each  statement  of  similar  transfers — and  there  were 
three  or  four  more  recorded  before  Mr.  Brett  had  finished 
— Mr.  Butterson  greeted  with  a  similar  sigh,  which  he 
followed  with  a  complacent  look  that  seemed  to  say  that 
he,  at  least,  was  doing  his  full  duty  in  the  face  of  over- 
whelming odds.     Mr.  Tubb,  meanwhile,  seemed  wholly 


248  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

fascinated  by  his  rival's  solemn  face,  until  he  learned  that 
Mr.  Butterson  possessed  only  one  share  of  stock.  Then 
he  smiled  for  the  first  time  since  the  entrance  of  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  Universal  Emporium,  a  smile  that  broad- 
ened slowly  and  ended  in  a  triumphant  little  cackle  of 
laughter.  Mr.  Tubb  was,  however,  the  only  man  in  the 
room  who  smiled  at  Mr.  Butterson's  solitary  share  of 
stock.  Indeed  Mr.  Butterson  had  become  the  sphinx  of 
the  occasion,  although  his  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
and  his  bland,  ministerial  air  were  far  from  being  sphinx- 
like. Billy  McNish,  describing  the  cash  groceryman,  had 
once  said  that  Mrs.  Butterson  probably  rocked  the  baby 
to  sleep  by  placing  it  in  Butterson 's  arms,  and  reading  him 
jokes  to  make  him  shake  with  laughter. 

There  followed  a  number  of  laconic  reports  prepared 
rather  for  form  than  for  information.  Nobody  seemed 
to  listen  to  them  and  they  were  accepted  readily.  Every- 
one was  eager  to  reach  the  election  of  directors.  Then, 
of  course,  the  real  struggle  would  begin  and  the  real 
strength  of  each  party  would  be  tested.  During  the 
reports  Colonel  Mead  slipped  a  folded  piece  of  paper 
into  Mr.  McNish's  hand.  The  elder  McNish  smoothed  it 
out  carefully,  compared  the  figures  it  contained  with 
those  he  had  himself  noted  down,  and  nodded.  The 
Colonel's  notes  when  deciphered  read: 

Hardy   5,528 

Hubbard   9,910 

McNish  and  Mead 8,842 

Tareville 325 

Butterson 1 

Tubb 200 

Not  represented   194 

25,000 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  249 

Other  pencils  were  working  out  the  same  result  across 
the  table,  and  the  director  from  Tareville  whispered 
once  more  to  Mr.  Butterson,  whose  gravity  seemed 
strangely  undisturbed  by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Tubb  held 
one  hundred  and  ninety-nine  shares  of  stock  more  than 
he  did. 

When  Mr.  Hardy  declared  the  meeting  open  for  the 
election  of  directors,  the  Colonel  was  on  his  feet  immedi- 
ately to  move  Mr.  Hardy's  re-election  by  acclamation. 
Mr.  Brett  was  only  slightly  behind  him.  He  seconded 
the  motion.  Sam  Hardy  smiled  grimly,  and  the  Colonel 
cursed  under  his  breath.  Mr.  Brett's  ferret  eyes  watched 
the  Colonel's  obvious  irritation,  but  his  face  was  stolid. 
The  motion  would  have  passed  unanimously  if  Mr.  Tubb 
had  not  been  too  engrossed  in  Mr.  Butterson's  unexpected 
presence  and  extraordinary  behavior,  to  listen.  The  only 
fact  which  Mr.  Tubb  realized  was  that  his  rival  voted  in 
favor  of  the  motion.  He,  therefore,  declared  shrilly  for 
the  negative,  to  the  confusion  of  Mr.  Hardy  and  the 
amusement  of  the  others.  The  diversion  occasioned  by 
Mr.  Tubb  was  only  momentary.  He  changed  his  vote 
quickly  with  a  stumbling  apology,  and  the  Colonel  once 
more  took  the  floor,  although  the  Honorable  Mr.  Strutt 
made  frantic  efforts  to  gain  the  president's  attention. 

"Mister  President,"  remarked  the  Colonel,  "I  ain't 
much  of  a  business  man.  New-fangled  business,  ez  fer 
ez  IVe  seen  it,  is  a  joodicious  combination  of  a  soft  smile 
an'  a  sandbag.  I  reckon  I  wuz  made  a  director  in  this 
concern  'cause  ye  thought  I  likely  wouldn't  do  harm." 

"We're  greatly  interested,  of  course,  in  our  friend's 
personal  confession,  and  in  the  results  of  his  observation," 


250  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

broke  in  Mr.  Strutt,  rubbing  his  hands  together  ingratia- 
tingly, "but  really,  Mr.  President,  it  isn't  electing  direc- 
tors." 

The  Colonel  chuckled. 

"  Been  expectin'  that.  Thet's  whar  the  sandbag  begins 
to  come  in,"  he  retorted. 

"Come  to  the  point,"  growled  Mr.  Hardy. 

Colonel  Mead  hesitated  perceptibly.  Being  hurried 
and  being  flurried  usually  rhymed  in  his  temperament. 

"  I  help  to  represent  moreen  a  third  o'  the  stock  at  this 
meetin*,"  he  went  on  slowly.  "I'm  goin*  to  state  here 
an'  now  what  thet  stock  stands  fer." 

"But,  Mr.  President,"  Mr.  Strutt  interrupted  again, 
"all  this  takes  time.  Can't  our  friend  explain,  by  the 
way  in  which  he  votes,  what  his  stock  stands  for,  as  he 
puts  it?" 

"It  don't  stand  fer  you.  Mister  Strutt."  The  Colonel 
was  beginning  to  lose  his  temper.  "It  don't  stand  fer 
the  soft  smile  ner  the  sandbag.  It  ain't  tryin'  to  con- 
trol the  company  nor  to  own  it.  It  stands  fer  the  man- 
agement as  now  constitooted.  It  stands  fer  the  president 
an'  fer  the  gen'ral  manager.  It  stands  fer  the  profits 
they're  likely  goin'  to  give  us  durin'  the  next  year.  An' 
it  don't  stand  fer  the  interference  of  an  outside  manu- 
fact'rer,  who  don't  like  our  competition,  through  his 
hired  men." 

Mr.  Hardy  hunched  back  in  his  chair  nervously,  as  he 
met  the  Colonel's  keen  glance.  He  looked  across  at  the 
director  from  Tareville,  as  if  to  ask  an  opinion.  Mr. 
Strutt,  however,  recalled  his  attention  to  the  meeting. 

"Our  friend  seems  to  have  so  misunderstood  our  in- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  251 

tentions,"  the  lawyer  began  glibly,  "and  to  have  so 
misrepresented  them,  miintentionally  no  doubt,  that  I 
am  forced  to  answer  him  for  my  friends  here  and  myself. 
To  use  his  reiterated  phrase; — and  we  have  enjoyed  his 
oratory  greatly.  He  has  a  real  gift,  a  gift  that  we  ought 
to  hear  in  its  expression  more  often,  I'm  sure.  To  use 
his  phrase — and  I'm  sure  no  better  one  could  be  invented 
— we  stand  for  exactly  the  things  he  stands  for  with  one 
slight  exception.  We  all  know  Mr.  Hardy,"  Mr.  Strutt 
bowed  to  the  president.  "We  all  trust  his  long  experi- 
ence and  his  tried  abilities,  but — and  here  is  the  exception 
— we  know  much  less  of  the  new  general  manager.  He 
may  be  a  valuable  young  man  inside  the  shops.  About 
that  Mr.  Hardy  undoubtedly  knows  more  than  we  do. 
But  we  cannot  approve  of  the  way  in  which  he  has  forced 
himself  upon  the  company,  nor  do  we  like  the  presump- 
tuous way  in  which  he  has  undoubtedly  attempted  to 
gain  control  of  the  stock  at  this  meeting.  This  has  been 
done,  of  course,  through  his  agents,"  Mr.  Strutt  nodded 
to  the  Colonel,  "and  perhaps  without  their  knowledge 
of  his  real  intentions.  We  can  scarcely  be  blamed  for 
attempting  to  protect  our  large  holdings  in  this  company 
from  this  inexperienced  young  man  with  large  am- 
bitions." 

Mr.  Strutt  sat  down  amid  murmurs  of  applause  from 
his  side  of  the  long  table.  Mr.  Hardy  stared  dully,  first 
at  the  lawyer  and  then  at  Colonel  Mead.  He  seemed 
confused.  Mr.  Strutt's  remarks  had  imdoubtedly  re- 
newed his  suspicions  of  John  Gilbert.  They  had  un- 
doubtedly opened  also  the  old  wound  to  his  pride,  which 
the  Colonel  in  his  blunt  way  had  tried  to  heal. 


252  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Thet's  why  you're  buyin'  up  Hardy  stock,  I  suppose," 
suggested  the  Colonel  sarcastically. 

"If  we  are  buying  up  Hardy  stock" — returned  Mr. 
Strutt  in  his  most  genial  manner, — "and  probably  our 
omniscient  friend  knows  more  about  it  than  we  do.  If, 
as  I  say,  we  are  buying  Hardy  stock,  it  is  obviously  be- 
cause we  have  inexhaustible  faith  in  the  future  of  the 
company  under  Mr.  Hardy's  management." 

Mr.  Hardy  rapped  for  order. 

"Proceed  to  election  of  other  directors,"  he  said, 
gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair  as  if  to  brace  himself  against 
all  arguments.  "Divided  meeting.  Elect  'em  one  by 
one." 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Mr.  Strutt 
smiled  pleasantly  at  Captain  Merrivale,  and  Mr.  Tubb 
muttered  to  himself  that  "Strutt  'd  got  'em  again.'*  As 
the  voting  progressed  Mr.  Hardy's  body  seemed  more 
tensely  upright,  and  his  mouth  smiled  with  a  set  smile. 
He  was  proceeding  exactly  as  he  had  planned  before- 
hand, and  he  was  controlling  the  meeting.  He  elected 
Mr.  Brett  and  Captain  Merrivale  and  Mr.  Strutt  by  count- 
ing his  votes  with  theirs  against  the  Colonel.  He  elected 
the  Colonel  and  Mr.  McNish  by  turning  his  votes  to  them 
against  the  others. 

"I  propose  the  name  o'  John  Gilbert,"  declared  the 
Colonel,  with  a  menacing  gesture  toward  Mr.  Strutt,  "an' 
I  want  to  say  that  he  didn't  know  I  wuz  goin'  to  do  it. 
He  ain't  lookin'  fer  it.  He's  a  stockholder  an'  he  ought 
to  be  a  director.  The  man  thet's  fightin'  hardest  fer  the 
concern  sure  ought  to  hev  ez  much  show  ez  them  thet  're 
fightin'  against  it." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  253 

Mr.  Hardy  shook  his  head  impatiently.  It  was  not 
in  his  plan.  Gilbert  was  rejected,  but  Billy  McNish  was 
elected  a  director  readily,  when  the  Colonel  suggested  his 
name  immediately  afterward.  Three  from  each  side  had 
been  chosen  beside  Mr.  Hardy;  seven  in  all  out  of  the 
nine.  Then  there  ensued  ten  minutes  of  unsuccessful 
balloting.  Every  proposal  from  either  side  of  the  table 
was  defeated  with  steady  precision,  until  both  parties  had 
exhausted  their  lists  of  candidates.  There  was  an  inter- 
val of  hesitant  silence.  Mr.  Strutt,  with  an  alert,  sug- 
gestive look,  caught  the  Colonel's  eye,  but  the  veteran's 
grizzled  face  turned  away  contemptuously.  It  was  Sam 
Hardy's  moment  of  moments. 

"Suggest  Mr.  Higgins  of  Tareville,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
All  eyes  turned  toward  the  silent  pair  who  sat  near  Mr. 
Hardy's  desk.  Mr.  McNish  whispered  to  the  Colonel, 
who  answered  with  a  wry  face  and  a  nod.  Mr.  Higgins 
was  elected. 

"Suggest  Mr.  Butterson,"  added  Mr.  Hardy.  This, 
then,  was  the  meaning  of  the  grocer's  one  share  of  stock. 
Mr.  Hardy  had  transferred  it  to  him  so  that  he  might  be- 
come the  ninth  director.  Mr.  Butterson  smiled  placidly 
at  the  contending  groups  when  his  election  was  an- 
nounced, but  not  so  Mr.  Tubb.  Mr.  Tubb's  sensitive, 
poetic  soul  was  deeply  wounded  at  this  unexpected  vic- 
tory of  his  rival.  The  fore  legs  of  his  tilting  chair  slammed 
resentfully  upon  the  floor,  and  Mr.  Tubb,  muttering  an- 
grily, flung  himself  out  of  the  room,  in  the  midst  of  the 
surprised  laughter  of  everyone  except  sober  Mr.  Butter- 
son.  And  before  the  laughter  had  entirely  died  away, 
the  stockholders'  meeting  was  adjourned. 


254  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Slowly,  to  the  noisy  accompaniment  of  the  stamping 
on  of  overshoes  and  the  grating  of  moving  chairs  and  the 
hum  of  small  talk,  the  crowd  thinned  down  until  only 
the  nine  remained,  the  new  directorate.  The  Colonel 
had  sauntered  across  to  the  window,  and,  leaning  on  the 
chair  which  Mr.  Tubb  had  vacated,  he  looked  out  at  the 
rain  and  the  leaden  sky.  Mr.  Strutt,  watching  him,  rose 
and  started  across  the  room  to  join  him.  He  had  scarcely 
left  his  place,  however,  when  he  was  halted  by  a  hoarse, 
unnatural  voice. 

"Come  to  order." 

It  was  Mr.  Hardy.  He  had  not  moved  from  his  former 
position,  but  he  was  manifestly  excited.  Feverish  red 
spots  glowed  in  his  sallow  cheeks,  and  now  he  threw  back 
his  shoulders  with  a  jerky  gesture. 

"Suggest  for  officers,  ensuing  year,"  he  went  on, 
forcing  his  old  arrogance  into  the  words.  "President 
and  Treasurer,  Hardy;  Vice-President,  Butterson;  Sec- 
retary, Higgins  of  Tareville." 

The  room,  except  for  Mr.  Hardy's  raucous  breathing, 
became  suddenly  silent.  Mr.  Brett,  the  former  secretary, 
smiled  sneeringly  at  Captain  Merrivale,  who  fidgeted 
with  a  pencil  in  his  fingers.  Mr.  Strutt,  who  had  sunk 
back  into  his  chair,  still  watched  the  Colonel.  Only  Billy 
McNish,  with  his  almost  feminine  sixth  sense,  noticed 
the  terrible  tenseness  of  that  stocky  body  in  the  presi- 
dent's chair,  or  felt  something  clutch  at  his  heart  with  a 
warning  of  impending  tragedy. 

The  Colonel  turned  back  from  the  window  and  faced 
Mr.  Hardy. 

"Sam  Hardy,"  he  said,  bitter  anger  and  disappoint- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  255 

ment  emphasizing  each  word,  "ef  thet's  what  ye  want,  I 
move  ye  hev  it.  An'  then  I  want  to  remark  thet  ye  make 
me  think  a  hull  lot  of  a  boy  I  saw  playin'  shinny  last 
winter.  He  had  his  eyes  on  the  ball,  thet  boy  did,  an' 
thet  wuz  all  he  thought  about.  When  he  got  it  he  was 
so  plumb  crazy  thet  he  took  it  a-kitin'  toward  his  own 
goal.  Th'  others  on  his  side,  they  yelled  continuous  to 
stop  him,  but  he  wouldn't  pay  any  attention  to  'em.  He 
jest  natch'rally  lost  the  game  fer  them  an'  fer  himself. 
Thet's  what  I  reckon  you've  done,  an'  I  want  to  say  thet 
I  wouldn't  vote  fer  you  fer  janitor  o'  this  shop  ef  it 
wuzn't  fer  Jack  Gilbert." 

Mr.  Hardy  put  the  motion  mechanically,  his  wide-open 
eyes  glaring  at  the  Colonel.  There  was  a  pause  after  the 
vote  was  taken.  They  waited  so  long  a  time  that  Billy 
and  Mr.  McNish  both  moved  uneasily  in  their  seats.  Mr. 
Hardy  still  sat,  staring  vacantly  at  the  window.  Then 
suddenly  he  swayed  against  his  desk  and  slowly  pitched 
forward  headlong  upon  the  floor.  The  weakened  cords 
of  "the  old  man's"  life,  pulled  tight  for  the  crisis,  had 
loosened,  perhaps  broken,  with  reaction.  For  a  second 
or  two  the  men  before  him  sat  motionless.  Then,  Billy 
McNish  in  the  lead,  they  hurried  to  him.  But  John  Gil- 
bert was  ahead  of  them.  He  had  opened  the  door  from 
the  hall,  and,  seeing  the  prostrate  form  at  first  glance,  he 
had  rushed  to  "the  old  man's"  side.  Strangely  enough 
Mr.  Hardy  had  fallen  against  the  button  that  rang  the 
superintendent's  bell,  sounding  a  summons  at  last  for 
the  man  who  had  fought  for  him  and  whom  he  had  fought. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Gilbert  returned  to  the  shops. 
The  Colonel  was  with  him,  but  Billy  had  remained  at  the 


256  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

stricken  Hardy  house.  Billy  had  seemed  to  know  in- 
stantly what  to  do,  and  both  Jack  and  the  Colonel 
had  felt  that  they  were  in  the  way.  At  the  office  door 
they  passed  ex-Congressman  Strutt  and  Mr.  Brett,  and 
they  found  the  director  from  Tareville  and  Mr.  Butterson 
waiting  for  them.  It  seemed  that  the  Honorable  ex- 
Congressman  had  been  arguing  with  the  two  new  officials 
of  Hardy  &  Son.  "Couldn't  even  wait  till  they  knew 
whether  'the  old  man'  had  passed  in  his  checks  or  not," 
as  the  Colonel  expressed  it.  The  director  from  Tareville 
had  told  Mr.  Strutt  that  he,  as  secretary,  would  call  no 
meetings  of  the  directors  while  Mr.  Hardy  was  living, 
until  Mr.  Hardy  was  able  to  ask  him  to  do  so.  He  pro- 
ceeded now  to  assure  the  Colonel  of  the  same  decision, 
and  Mr.  Butterson  nodded  his  head  in  solenm  approval. 
As  to  the  shops,  they  were  temporarily  in  the  hands  of 
the  general  manager.  Mr.  Hardy  had  always  ruled  his 
office  with  such  a  complete  one-man  power  that  there 
was  no  one  to  take  his  place,  but  undoubtedly  some  of 
his  clerks  and  assistants  could  help  Mr.  Gilbert  with  any 
puzzling  problems,  and  he,  Mr.  Higgins,  would  come  from 
Tareville  every  day  or  so  while  Mr.  Hardy  was  absent. 

When  they  had  gone  Gilbert  led  the  Colonel  into  his 
little  office. 

"Couldn't  've  tangled  it  up  worse,  could  he?"  he  said, 
as  they  sat  down. 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"Thet  man  Strutt's  the  devil,"  remarked  the  Colonel, 
after  a  long  pause.  "He  kin  paint  white  black  till  ye're 
color  blind.  He  kin  sling  soft  soap  till  ye're  smothered. 
He  kin  pull  the  wool  over  yer  eyes  till  ye  bleat  like  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  257 

lamb  o'  his  own  flock.  He  kin  lie  so  thet  it  sounds  truer 
than  all  four  gospels.  I  tell  ye,  boy,  a  man  with  a  gift 
o*  gab  like  that  ought  to  be  sent  to  jail  fer  a  year  every 
time  he  opens  his  mouth.  But  he's  slick,  Strutt  is,  an' 
the  great  American  beatitude  is,  'Blessed  are  the  slick, 
for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth.'" 

"They'll  be  buying  up  stock  now,"  Gilbert  said  slowly. 
"We've  got  to  stop  'em  somehow." 

"Stop  'em!"  retorted  the  Colonel.  "Ye  can't  stop  'em. 
They've  got  the  money.  Why,  Hubbard  is  money.  I 
reckon  even  his  bones  jingle  when  he  walks.  I'll  bet  he 
owns  the  biggest  half  of  the  stock  he  voted  to-day.  You 
calc'late  how  long  it  '11  take  him  to  git  the  rest,  an'  twenty- 
five  hundred  odd  shares  more,  into  his  corral,  when  he's 
got  nice,  fat  pasturage  an'  we  ain't  got  a  blade  o'  grass, 
an'  I'll  tell  ye  how  long  it  '11  be  before  you  ain't  got  any 
job  an'  our  stock  ain't  wuth  two  cents  on  a  dollar.  'Course, 
McNish  an'  I  could  put  up  some  money  to  fight  'em,  but 
it  'Id  take  hundreds  o'  thousands,  an'  they've  got  the 
start.     We'd  likely  be  ruined  along  with  the  concern." 

"Oh,  that's  out  of  the  question,  of  course,"  said  Gil- 
bert quickly.  "Perhaps  the  whole  thing's  been  a  mis- 
take," he  went  on  musingly,  "or  perhaps  we've  made  a 
mess  of  it  somewhere.  And  Hhe  old  man'  stuck  to  his 
guns.  I  thought  he'd  come  around.  I  thought  he'd 
see.  That's  where  I  miscalculated.  Confound  it.  Colo- 
nel, it's  brutal  to  think  of  his  losing  the  shops  now.  He's 
getting  old  and  he's  in  bad  shape.  It  'Id  kill  him,  or 
near  it.     Colonel,  we've  got  to  stop  'em." 

The  Colonel  only  wrinkled  his  forehead  into  a  per- 
plexed frown  for  answer. 


258  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"I've  been  wondering  for  a  week  or  two/'  Gilbert  went 
on,  "why  they're  spending  so  much  good  time  and  money 
on  this  thing.  There's  something  back  of  it  we  don't 
understand.     Why  should  they " 

"Look  here,"  broke  in  the  Colonel.  "Ef  ye  start  that, 
ye're  on  the  way  to  the  daffy-house.  Why,  every  year 
a  dozen  er  more  collidge  prifessers  blow  their  brains  out, 
'cause  they  can't  savvey  the  reasons  fer  the  effervescence 
of  the  perpendicular  of  the  why.  A  teacher-man  turned 
up  in  camp  down  in  Arizona  one  day.  Tenderfoot?  He 
wuz  the  tenderest,  gentlest  thing  ye  ever  see;  one  of  the 
kind  thet  smiles  benevolently,  while  the  women  smooth 
him  and  stroke  him  and  say  what  a  fine,  big,  intelligent 
one  he  is.  Well,  he  got  talkin',  an'  I  stood  it  all  right 
till  he  sed  thet  I  wasn't  real;  sed  I  was  only  an  idea. 
That  made  me  mad,  an'  I  decided  to  impress  thet  impor- 
tant idea  on  him  instanter.  And  when  I  got  throo  with 
him  I  reckon  he  had  mainly  one  thought  left  in  his  head, 
an'  thet  was  me."  The  Colonel  smiled  grimly  at  the 
memory.  "But  I  didn't  git  over  him  fer  a  week.  I'd 
say  to  myself,  'Why  is  thet . tamarack  tree  yander?' 
Then  I'd  answer,  'Becuz  the  idiot  ridin'  by  in  the  trail 
never  has.'  An'  when  I  finally  did  git  sobered  from  thet 
reasonin'  jag  I  swore  off  hard.  I  tell  ye,  boy,  don't  git 
the  habit  o'  tryin'  to  lasso  why  a  thing  is,  'cause,  if  ye  do, 
what  it  is  an'  where  it  is  '11  sure  git  away  from  ye." 

"There's  one  satisfaction.  We've  cost  'em  some  money 
and.  Colonel,  we'll  cost  'em  more  before  we  get  through. 
It  isn't  done  with  yet,  by  a  long  shot."  The  whistle 
blew,  and  Gilbert  arose  and  went  to  his  little  window. 
"I  can  trust  the  men,"    he  went  on,  as  he  watched 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  259 

them  hurry  out  mto  the  rain.  "They're  with  me,  any- 
how." 

"Don't  ye  ride  too  fer  on  thet  hoss,"  retorted  the 
pessimistic  Colonel.  "  Thar  ain't  a  man  in  the  shop  thet's 
with  ye  ten  dollars'  wuth.  Thar  ain't  an  Irishman  in  the 
place  thet  wouldn't  curse  ye  fer  a  drink  o'  whiskey,  ner 
a  Dago  thet  wouldn't  knife  ye  fer  a  nickel." 

"Go  home  and  take  a  tonic,  Colonel."  Gilbert  spoke 
without  turning.  "You  need  to  brace  up.  And  say, 
Colonel,"  he  added  with  a  rueful  smile,  as  the  veteran 
rose  to  go,  "save  some  for  me." 

As  Gilbert  sat  down  alone  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
could  feel  Mr.  Hubbard's  long  fingers  closing  remorse- 
lessly about  him,  and  about  that  mammoth  being  of  men 
and  machines  which  Sam  Hardy  had  given  the  best  part 
of  his  life  to  build,  and  which  he  himself  had  recreated. 
He  remembered  a  remark  of  the  Colonel's  made  only 
two  or  three  days  before.  "We've  got  the  principle,"  the 
veteran  had  remarked,  "but  they've  got  the  principal, 
which  latter  is  the  only  spellin'  recognized  in  America." 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Joe  Heffler  stood  on 
the  threshold. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?"  he  asked,  fingering 
his  hat  nervously. 

"  Guess  not,  Joe,  thanks." 

Heffler  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"Could  I  have  two  or  three  moments  of  your  time, 
sir?" 

"Come  in,  Joe.  Sit  down.  What's  the  matter?" 
Gilbert  pushed  a  chair  across  to  him  and  leaned  back,  his 
hands  caught  behind  his  large  head  with  its  unruly  mat 


260  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

of  hair.  Heffler  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  chair  as  if 
to  assure  Gilbert  that  he  did  not  intend  to  bother  him 
long,  and  leaned  forward  on  the  handle  of  his  umbrella. 

"I  don't  quite  know  how  to  begin,  sir,"  Heffler  cleared 
his  throat.     "It's  about  Miss — Miss  Gerty  Smith." 

"But  I  thought  we  agreed  that  you  weren't  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  that."  Gilbert  allowed  his  office 
chair  to  settle  back  to  its  normal  position,  in  his  frank 
surprise  and  interest.  Heffler  did  not  seem  to  notice  the 
interruption.  He  went  on  as  if  he  wished  to  finish  a 
disagreeable  duty. 

"I've  taken  a  room  on  the  same  floor  as  hers  and  her 
sister's,  in  that  brick  block  on  Broad  Street.  You're 
right,  sir.  She's  been  telling  Mr.  Brett — about  things 
here."  Heffler  stopped,  and  his  hands  worked  convulsively 
about  the  umbrella  handle.  "He's  a — a  scoundrel,  sir, 
an  infernal  scoundrel.  But," — Heffler  looked  up  with 
sudden  appeal  in  his  eyes, — "I  don't  want  you  to  put 
her  out." 

"All  right,  Joe,  whatever  you  say  goes." 

"You  won't  put  her  out,  then?"  asked  Heffler,  almost 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Not  unless  you  say  the  word.  To  tell  the  truth,  Joe, 
I'd  pretty  nearly  forgotten  her.  She  can't  hurt  us  much 
now,  I  guess." 

Heffler  did  not  understand  the  irony  of  Gilbert's  tone. 
He  understood  only  that  the  big  superintendent  would 
not  discharge  the  girl. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said.  Then  he  hesitated  again, 
and  ran  his  fingers  nervously  through  his  gray  hair. 
"  She's  something  of  a  friend  of  mine.     She's  been  tied  up 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  261 

to — to  him  for  going  on  a  year  now.  I  want  to  get  her 
rid  of  him  if  I  can." 

Gilbert  nodded  sympathetically 

"He's  boasted  to  her/'  went  on  Heffler,  "that  he  and 
the  rest  of  them,  sir,  would  own  this  shop  within  three 
weeks  from  to-day.     I  told  her  they  wouldn't." 

Gilbert  leaned  back  in  his  chair  again,  wearily  this 
time.  He  had  partly  forgotten  his  discouragement  in  his 
interest  in  Heffler's  story. 

"Three  weeks,"  he  repeated.     "That's  pretty  quick." 

"He's  told  her  something  about  how  that  Street  Rail- 
way Bill  was  passed,  too.  I  don't  know  much  about  it. 
I  suppose  you  aren't  interested  in  that,  are  you?" 

Gilbert  stared  thoughtfully  straight  into  Heffler's  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quietly.     "I  am  interested." 

"And  she  knows  something  about  that  reservoir  busi- 
ness," Heffler  went  on,  shifting  his  gaze  to  the  window. 
"You  know,  the  thing  I  spoke  of  to  them  before  they 
got  rid  of  me.  She  says  that  he — he  is  a  mighty  clever 
man." 

Gilbert  arose  and  walked  slowly  across  the  room  and 
back. 

"She's  right,  Joe,"  he  said  at  last.  "He's  too  clever 
for  me.  His  whole  crowd  is  too  clever  for  me.  Perhaps 
they'll  be  too  clever  for  themselves.  That's  the  only  way 
we  slow  coaches  get  a  chance." 

Heffler  had  risen  with  Jack,  and  was  moving  now  toward 
the  door. 

"If  you're  interested,"  he  suggested,  without  meeting 
Gilbert's  eyes,  "I'll  find  out  all  I  can  about  those  things." 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  slowly. 


26«  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"No,  Joe.  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that  sort  of  thing 
for  me.     She's  your  friend,  you  know." 

Joe  Heffler  stood  still,  looking  at  the  floor  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  nodded  and  went  out. 

Gilbert  cleared  up  his  desk  and  plodded  out  into  the 
steady  downpour  of  rain.  The  dreary  day  seemed  to  fit 
his  mood.  He  was  tired,  discouraged,  temporarily 
beaten.  Billy  came  out  of  the  Hardy  house  as  he  tramped 
up  West  Hill,  and  they  walked  together  the  few  steps  to 
the  McNish  gateway. 

"  Brain  fever,"  Billy  said  laconically. 

"Hard  luck,"  was  Gilbert's  short  reply.  "Very 
serious?" 

"Rather." 

Gilbert  walked  on  silently.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
girl  in  the  house  Billy  had  left. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  watched  her  son  furtively  all  that  long 
afternoon  and  evening,  as  he  sat  working  at  the  desk  in 
the  little  library  or  tramping  back  and  forth  restlessly. 
Gradually,  by  unsuspicious  answers  to  cunning  questions, 
she  learned  much  that  was  troubling  him.  But  she  said 
nothing  about  it  until  they  were  locking  up  the  house 
for  the  night. 

"Laddie."  She  was  looking  up  at  him  as  he  towered 
above  her.  "  There's  a  word  I  mind  my  own  mother  used 
to  say  when  things  went  as  they  shouldn't.  *  We've  aye 
been  provided  for,  and  aye  will  we  yet.'  I  heard  her  say 
it  often." 

He  realized  then  that  she  knew,  and  that  she  was 
worried  for  him. 

"Of  course,  mither,"  he  said,  trying  to  seem  indifferent. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  263 

An  hour  later,  as  he  lay  asleep,  his  great  body  sprawled 
across  his  bed  upstairs,  she  tiptoed  in  and  looked  down 
at  him,  as  he  lay  there  in  the  moonlight  that  shone  through 
the  open  window. 

"My  little  lad,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  and  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes;  **my  little  lad." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   APPEARANCE   OF   MR.    CONLIN 

GILBERT  started  and  looked  wonderingly  at  one 
of  his  draughtsmen,  who  stood  staring  in  turn, 
his  brow  creased  with  silent  astonishment. 
They  had  been  bending  over  some  penciled  sketches  of 
machinery  which  Gilbert  had  brought  with  him  that 
Monday  morning,  when  the  bell  from  Mr.  Hardy's  room 
sounded.  There  was  something  uncanny  about  it  that 
startled  both  men. 

"Wire  crossed,  probably." 

"Or  the  boy  dusting." 

Together  they  leaned  again  over  the  littered  desk, 
when,  short  and  sharp,  once  more  came  the  summons, 
emphasized  now  irritably. 

"If  I  didn't  know  it  couldn't  be,  I'd  say  it  was  him." 

"I'll  go  and  see  what's  up.  Only  a  minute.  Wait 
here." 

Gilbert  threw  open  the  door  of  the  president's  office, 
and  then  stood  transfixed  with  surprise.  The  office  chair 
whirled  around  as  the  door  opened,  and  in  it  sat  the  trim, 
rigid  figure  of  a  girl,  whose  face  had  a  forced  sternness 
that  threatened  to  break  instantly  into  spontaneous  and 
tantalizing  smile|. 

"  You  are  very  slow,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  said  the  low,  musical 

264 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  265 

voice.  "Close  the  door,  please.  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you." 

Gilbert  closed  the  door  obediently  and  faced  her,  sup- 
pressed humor  showing  in  his  eyes  and  about  his  mouth. 

She  looked  away  quickly,  biting  her  lips. 

"Did  the — the  molasses  come  for  the  foundry?"  she 
asked.  Then  in  spite  of  herself  she  lost  control  and 
leaned  back,  quivering  with  silent  laughter.  Gilbert's 
smile  broadened. 

"I  didn't  know  we  were  out  of  molasses.  Miss  Hardy," 
he  drawled. 

"Didn't  you?"  she  said  in  a  shocked  tone.  "Why,  I 
supposed  you  knew  everything — that  is,  about  shops.  I 
didn't,  of  course,  but  I  remembered  father  told  us  you 
used  molasses  in  the  foundry.  It  seemed  odd,  of  course, 
and  it  was  the  only  thing  I  could  think  of  at  the  mo- 
ment. You  shouldn't  make  me  laugh,  sir.  It  spoils  my 
dignity." 

By  this  time  Gilbert  was  leaning,  with  his  arms  upon 
the  desk-top,  looking  down  at  her. 

"How  is  your  father?"  he  asked. 

Her  face  sobered  instantly. 

"  He's  very  ill.     The  doctors  can't  tell  yet." 

"Why  are  you  here?"  he  asked  in  his  old,  imperative 
way  that  made  her  defiant  for  the  moment. 

"Partly  to  tell  you  that,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

He  waited  in  alert  silence. 

"  Partly  the  old  story  of  Mohammed  and  the  mountain. 
You  are  a  mountain,"  she  added,  eyeing  humorously  his 
big,  lumbering  figure.  ,-r 

Again  his  eye  caught  hers  and  she  moved  restlessly. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"Partly  to  see  anything  in  his  mail  that "    Then 

she  hesitated  again.  She  glanced  up  at  him,  a  rich  red 
coloring  her  olive  cheeks. 

"No,  it  isn't  that  at  all,"  she  went  on  hurriedly.  "I 
can't  be  of  any  use  up  at  the  house.  They  won't  let  me 
go  near  him,  and  mother  would  rather  be  alone.  I  know 
some  of  the  things  that  happened  Saturday.  I  know 
that  you're  trying  to  save  him  and  that  you're  in  trouble 
about  it.  Billy  told  me.  I  thought,  perhaps,  I  might 
help — a  little — somewhere.  It's  a  woman's  part  to  do 
that." 

As  she  watched  him,  she  saw  that  he  smiled  steadily 
at  her. 

"You've  begun  already,"  he  said  quietly. 

They  sat  down  at  the  table  which  had  separated  the 
contending  parties  at  the  meeting. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  commanded. 

"Somehow,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  think  you'll  under- 
stand.    Most  women  wouldn't,  I'm  afraid." 

Then,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  he  started  at 
the  very  beginning  with  the  first  intimation  he  had  had 
of  Mr.  Hubbard's  intentions.  And,  as  he  talked,  he 
seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  interested  in  the  story. 
This  first  unburdening  of  it  all  upon  other  shoulders 
seemed  to  free  his  own  of  some  of  their  load.  Once  or 
twice  he  stopped,  as  if  some  new  clue  or  an  idea  toward 
the  solution  of  some  difficulty  had  occurred  to  him.  His 
wits  sharpened  under  the  friction  of  her  questions.  He 
forgot  where  they  were.  He  forgot  the  man  waiting 
idly  in  his  office.  He  forgot  temporarily  who  she  was, 
and  talked  as  if  she  were  a  business  associate.     And  she, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  267 

realizing  it,  listened  eagerly  that  she  might  understand 
and  be  worthy  of  his  confidence. 

"  In  six  months  we'd  have  the  shops  so  promising  that 
none  would  care  to  sell  stock.  They'd  all  want  to  buy. 
But  six  months  is  a  long  time." 

Clare  stared  at  the  table  thoughtfully.  Then  she 
smiled. 

"  If  I  were  only  in  a  story  book,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him,  "I  would  sacrifice  myself,  and  marry  a  man  with 
money,  and  turn  it  all  over  to  you." 

"Money  wouldn't  help  now,  I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  his 
mind  concentrated  on  business.  "They've  too  big  a 
start." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Something  will  happen."  Gilbert's  face  glowed  with 
new  confidence.     "Something  must  happen  now." 

At  that  moment,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  remark,  some- 
thing did  happen.  The  door  opened  and  a  man  entered, 
unannounced.  He  was  short,  with  a  figure  like  a  care- 
lessly rolled  wad,  over  which  hung  a  frock  coat  that  looked 
as  if  it  had  never  met  a  tailor's  iron  since  it  was  made. 
A  diamond  shirt  stud  sparkled  in  the  opening  of  his  tan- 
colored  waistcoat,  and  he  wore  russet  shoes.  A  cigar 
was  stuck  in  his  narrow  mouth;  his  hair  was  black  and 
greasy;  and  a  large,  flat  nose  squatted  in  the  middle  of 
his  full,  clean-shaven  face.  Gilbert  noticed  all  these 
things  after  he  had  glanced  at  the  visitor's  bright,  shifty 
eyes. 

The  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  an  ill-bred, 
knowing  smile. 

"Mr.  Gilbert?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  which  was  on  the 


268  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

border  line  between  deference  and  arrogance.  Receiving 
an  affirmative  nod  for  an  answer,  he  came  forward  with  a 
card  in  his  outstretched  hand.  As  Gilbert  glanced  at  it 
he  perceptibly  stiffened. 

"Well,  Mr.  Conlin?"  he  asked. 

"D'ye  want  me  to  talk  before  the  lady?"  The  visitor 
jerked  his  thumb  toward  Miss  Hardy. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Gilbert,  not  looking  at  Clare  Hardy, 
who  had  pushed  her  chair  back,  and  who  was  watching 
the  two  men  with  frank  curiosity. 

"All  right."  But  the  man  shifted  his  feet  uneasily. 
"This  shop  ain't  payin'  its  men  enough,"  he  began, 
plunging  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers  pockets  and 
jerking  his  head  back  defiantly.  "It  keeps  men  after 
bom's.  It  puts  men  off  their  regular  jobs  and  onto  others. 
It  discharges  them  when  it  takes  the  notion  or  when  a 
new  automatic  machine  crowds  'em  out.  All  but  about 
a  hundred  o'  yer  men  are  union  men,  and  the  imion's 
decided,  through  me,  to  get  these  things  adjusted. 
You're  a  union  man  yerself.  Mister  Gilbert.  Ye  know 
me  and  ye  know  the  union  rules." 

"Yes,  I  know  you.  You're  the  worst  thing  I  know 
about  the  union,"  drawled  Gilbert,  a  dangerous  smile  on 
his  lips.  "If  the  men  have  any  definite  grievance  I'll 
fix  it  if  I  can.  But  I  don't  believe  they  have  one,  and, 
what's  more,  I  don't  believe  you  can  make  them  think 
they  have  one.  If  you  haven't  anything  else  to  say — 
Good-morning,  Conlin." 

Gilbert  turned  once  more  to  Miss  Hardy,  whose  look 
was  unfortunately  one  of  open  amusement.  Conlin  saw  the 
look  and  felt  the  contemptuousness  of  Gilbert's  speech. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  269 

''I'll  have  something  more  to  say,  Mister  Gilbert,  and 
soon,  too,"  he  said.  Then  he  turned  and  strutted  out, 
his  anger  swelling  him  up  like  a  turkey  cock. 

Clare  Hardy  watched  him  out  of  sight,  her  body  sway- 
ing imconsciously  with  his,  her  face  wrinkled  with  re- 
pressed laughter. 

"Isn't  he  absurd?    What  will  he  do?"  she  asked. 

Gilbert  was  staring  past  her  at  the  blank  side  wall. 

"Oh,  he'll  probably  excommunicate  me  from  the 
union,"  he  said.  "And  he'll  try  to  call  a  strike,  which  '11 
be  the  last  blow  to  our  opposition." 

The  last  words  came  more  slowly,  as  if  the  speaker  was 
thinking  of  something  else.  His  face  took  on  the  dreamy 
look  she  had  noticed  before,  when  he  was  thinking  deeply. 
Then  she  saw  light  suddenly  flash  in  his  eyes.  He  jumped 
to  his  feet  and  paced  up  and  down  before  her. 

"That's  it,"  he  said  over  and  over  to  himself,  paying 
no  attention  to  her.     "That's  it." 

It  was  very  trying  to  Clare  Hardy's  woman's  curiosity, 
this  oracular,  indefinite  statement. 

"What's  it?"  she  asked. 

Gilbert  started,  called  to  himself  once  more,  and  flung 
himself,  boyishly  enthusiastic,  into  the  chair. 

"The  first  ray  of  light  I've  had  in  weeks,"  he  cried. 
Then,  as  he  saw  the  alert  surprise  and  sympathy  on  the 
face  opposite  him — the  face,  near  now,  that,  far  away  and 
indistinct,  had  gone  with  him  throughout  the  struggle — 
he  stopped  suddenly  and  leaned  toward  her.  "And  you 
brought  it  to  me." 

Her  face  flushed  suddenly,  but  it  grew  sober  and  dis- 
appointed as  he  went  on. 


270  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Will  you  come  again  to-morrow?  I  want  to  think 
about  it,  and  the  shop's  a-calling  me  now." 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  short  second. 

"I'll  do  whatever  you  say,"  she  said. 

Gilbert  turned  quickly  and  pushed  one  of  the  buttons 
that  studded  the  president's  desk. 

"Send  Jimmy  O'Rourke  here,"  he  told  the  boy  who 
answered.  Miss  Hardy  waited,  curiously,  near  the  door 
that  led  down  to  the  street,  but  Gilbert  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her. 

"Jimmy,"  he  said,  when  the  boy  appeared,  "did  you 
see  the  man  who  was  here  a  few  minutes  ago?" 

"  De  guy  wid  the  sparkler?    Yessir." 

"See  Peter  and  get  hold  of  that  hackman  he  told  us 
about.  Find  out  if  this  is  the  man.  Then  keep  your 
eye  on  him  until  I  tell  you  to  quit.     His  name  is  Conlin." 

"All  right,  sir."  Jimmy  slammed  the  door  behind  him, 
as  if  to  signify  immediate  action.  And  Gilbert  turned 
awkwardly  to  Miss  Hardy. 

"It  sounds  very  thrilling,"  was  all  she  said  as  she 
turned  to  go. 

When  he  had  relieved  the  draughtsman,  who  was  still 
waiting  in  his  office,  Gilbert  walked  through  the  shops 
with  an  elation  he  could  scarcely  have  analyzed.  All  the 
straggling,  disorganized  forces  of  him  seemed  to  marshal 
themselves  into  line,  and  the  gentle  voice  of  command 
that  ordered  them  now  was  her  voice.  As  he  opened  the 
first  door,  however,  and  the  choppy  waves  of  metallic 
sound  broke  over  him  from  the  grimy,  seething  sea  of 
activity  within,  he  put  her  out  of  his  mind.  An  hour 
later,  in  the  foundry,  he  came  suddenly  upon  Mr.  Conlin 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  271 

gesticulating  and  talking  to  a  knot  of  workmen.  As 
Gilbert  appeared  they  separated  quickly,  as  if  impulsively 
ashamed.  Then  they  stood  by,  interested  in  the  contest 
between  the  two  men.  Gilbert  quietly  ordered  them 
back  to  work,  and  they  went,  hesitatingly  looking  at 
Conlin  for  other  orders. 

"  I'll  give  you  just  one  minute  to  get  out  of  here,  and 
I  warn  you  not  to  come  back,"  he  said  to  the  agitator. 

Conlin  squared  off,  his  arms  akimbo,  defiantly.  The 
minute  passed  quickly  and  the  two  men  still  faced  each 
other.  Gilbert  snapped  his  watch-case  and  seized  the 
agitator  unexpectedly,  by  the  collar  with  one  hand  and 
with  the  other  by  the  trousers,  where  the  tight  frock- 
coat  sprung  open  at  the  rear.  Conlin  struggled  ostenta- 
tiously as  he  was  marched  roughly  out  of  the  door, 
through  the  yard  and  out  of  the  gate,  which  the  gateman 
opened  for  them  wonderingly.  Gilbert  released  him, 
turned  without  a  word,  and  the  gate  clanged  behind  him. 
Conlin  smiled  malevolently  and  walked  off,  lighting  a 
cigar.  He  was  a  martyr  now.  That  would  help  him 
more  than  hours  of  his  clever  talk.  Meanwhile  Gilbert, 
in  the  mills  once  more,  sensed  the  first  organized  oppo- 
sition he  had  felt  in  the  shops  since  he  had  become 
superintendent,  and  he  began  to  distrust  his  hold  on  the 
men.  In  an  hour  the  insidious  poison  of  the  walking 
delegate's  tongue  had  undermined  much  of  his  work  of 
many  months,  until  he  felt  it  tumbling  about  him  in 
ruin.  And  when  the  machinists  came  back  to  work  in 
the  afternoon — the  most  skilled,  most  intelligent  workmen 
in  the  building — he  saw  them  talking  together,  some  ex- 
citedly, others  more  calmly,  shaking  their  heads.    All 


272  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

day  the  spirit  of  insurrection  grew  throughout  the  mills, 
that,  Saturday,  had  been  contented  in  their  compact 
organization  under  his  leadership.  Uneasiness  was  every- 
where, meeting  him  in  covert  glances;  antagonism,  grow- 
ing and  bitter;  and  the  work  became  shiftless,  half- 
hearted. Only  a  few  bent  stolidly  over  their  machines, 
listening  to  the  whirring,  grating  message  of  progress 
and  pejttce,  while  in  the  rooms  where  cheap  day  labor  was 
employed,  his  appearance  was  the  signal  for  sudden  fore- 
boding silence,  that  would  break  into  a  babel  of  many 
tongues  and  passions  when  he  had  gone.  They  were  not 
union  men,  but  they  scented  trouble,  and  they  liked  it. 
When  the  whistle  blew  Gilbert  watched  them  hurry  out 
in  long,  straggling  lines,  and  with  heavy  heart  he  noticed 
the  absurd  but  menacing  figure  of  Conlin  sauntering 
down  to  meet  them.  As  he  turned  from  the  window,  he 
saw  a  familiar  figure  at  the  door,  and  smiled  a  weary 
welcome  to  it. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir? '' 

It  was  Heffler,  with  his  usual  good-night. 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  Joe." 

But  the  man  came  forward,  handed  him  a  paper,  and, 
touching  his  hat,  went  out  and  down  the  stairs.  On  the 
paper  were  noted  the  time  and  place  of  three  union 
meetings  to  be  held  that  night. 

Gilbert  threaded  his  way  through  the  motley  crowd 
that  was  hurrying  homeward;  old  men  hobbling  along, 
backs  bent,  as  if  by  the  weight  of  the  empty  dinner- 
pails;  younger  men  elbowing  their  way  forward  in  noisy, 
good-humored  groups;  boys,  their  faces  daubed  and  their 
arms  swinging  with  the  swagger  of  their  bodies,  furtively 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  273 

glancing  from  right  to  left  to  see  if  everyone  realized  that 
they  were  men  and  worked  in  the  shops;  tired-looking 
women  gossiping,  in  voices  which  were  made  to  be  heard 
above  the  crash  of  machinery,  about  the  clothes  of  a  large, 
puffing  woman  whom  a  conductor  and  the  inspector  were 
helping  into  a  trolley  car;  clerks,  flowers  faded  in  the 
buttonholes  of  their  stylishly  cut  clothes — which  often 
made  whole  groups  look  like  ill-assorted  twins  and  triplets, 
because  Brown  the  clothier  had  sold  forty  suits  of  the 
same  material  for  ten  dollars  each — but  jaunty  still,  as 
they  smirked  smugly  at  pretty  typewriter  girls,  who 
giggled  and  simpered  and  wriggled  forward  laboriously, 
their  skirts  bound  and  held  tightly  about  them;  an  occa- 
sional lawyer,  gesticulating  as  he  talked;  a  doctor,  his 
arms  folded  pompously  over  a  broad,  white  waistcoat, 
one  foot  on  the  step  of  his  carriage  waiting  for  the  other, 
as  he  gave  his  opinions  on  the  weather  with  the  same 
patronizing  certainty  he  used  when  diagnosing  diseases; 
all  turned  toward  home,  the  peaceful  place  where  they 
ate  and  slept  and  had  arguments,  usually  gentle,  and 
made  resolutions,  usually  good;  where  they  had  occa- 
sional lapses  into  youthful  sentiment  which  they  hid 
carefully,  and  so  made  more  delightful  the  place  of 
which  they  said  unconsciously  but  whole-heartedly,  "God 
bless  it." 

"Good  people;  good,  funny  people,"  said  Gilbert  to 
himself,  as  now  and  then  he  answered  noisy  greetings 
and  waves  of  the  hand. 

"Sorry  ye  wouldn't  let  us  put  ye  up  for  mayor," 
shouted  Mr.  Tubb,  the  groceryman,  who  was  always 
ready  to  express  various  political  opinions  to  his  cus- 


274  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

tomers — various  in  that  they  invariably  coincided  with 
those  of  the  man  he  was  serving.  Once,  it  was  said,  two 
of  his  best  patrons,  of  opposite  political  faith,  entering 
the  store  together,  had  purposely  caught  him  off  his 
guard.  And,  after  sputtering  and  growing  very  red,  and 
brushing  imaginary  dust  from  his  long  apron,  he  had 
suddenly  heard  an  inaudible  call  from  the  rear  of  the 
store  and  had  rushed  off  and  hidden  in  his  little  partitioned 
office.  There  he  had  remained  all  day,  peeking  through  the 
glass  window,  and  trying  to  figure  out  how  he  could  prove 
that  both  parties  were  right  without  showing  that  both 
were  also  wrong. 

"It  was  over-confidence  for  you  to  think  of  it,"  drawled 
Gilbert.     "  Who  are  you  going  to  put  up  to-night,  Tubb?  " 

The  groceryman  bent  over  an  empty  barrel  to  hide  his 
embarrassment. 

"Well,"  he  called  defiantly  after  the  tall  man,  "Fd 
rather  have  you  than  either  of  ^em." 

Gilbert  found  Mr.  Butterson  in  front  of  his  Universal 
Emporium,  studying  with  obvious  approval  and  pride 
the  big,  newly  decorated  windows  of  his  three  adjoining 
stores.  Mr.  Butterson  was  ready  to  start  homeward, 
and  together  they  walked  up  West  Hill,  talking  earnestly. 
Gilbert  turned  in  at  the  gate  of  the  old  house.  He  had 
promised  to  dine  with  Billy  that  night. 

The  elder  McNish  occupied  the  greater  part  of  the  din- 
ner hour  with  comments  on  the  roominess  of  the  big  house, 
and  the  littleness  and  loneliness  of  two  mere  men  who 
attempted  to  occupy  it.  After  dinner  he  went  upstairs, 
and  the  two  younger  men,  smoking,  drifted  naturally  to 
the  broad  veranda  and  the  cool  dusk  of  the  approaching 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  275 

night.  Billy  was  very  talkative  and  Gilbert  listened 
silently. 

"Glad  you're  living,  eh  Billy?"  he  remarked  at  last. 

"Rather,"  grinned  Billy.  For  a  time  he  sat  looking 
thoughtfully  across  the  well-groomed  lawn,  and  he  smiled 
as  he  thought.  "I'm  a  funny  mess,  Jack,  inside.  Why 
am  I  glad  I'm  living?  I'll  tell  you.  For  four  days  I've 
been  going  around  with  my  chest  out,  and  everybody 
patting  my  back  to  keep  it  there.  Every  little  while  I  go 
out  on  the  street  so  as  to  see  people  point  at  me  and  hear 
them  say,  'That's  Captain  McNish,  who's  up  for  mayor.' 
In  the  office  I  keep  the  window  up,  and  I  sit  beside  it  all 
the  time  so  that  people  can  see  me.  I  know  it's  idiotic, 
but  I  can't  help  it.  I  like  it  and  I  want  more.  It's 
like  a  man  with  a  fever  who  wants  water.  He's  ready 
to  drown  in  it.  That's  what  I  enlisted  for,  time  of  the 
war,  so's  to  wear  the  uniform  and  strut  around.  I 
didn't  want  to  fight.  Lord  no;  I  just  wanted  to  come 
home  and  show  my  shoulder  straps.  Asinine,  isn't  it? 
And  do  you  know  what  I've  thought  about  most  since 
the  caucus?  The  election?  No.  The  great  things  to 
do  for  the  city?  No.  The  campaign?  No.  I've  been 
thinking  how  bully  it  '11  be  if  I  can  go  down  to  New 
Haven  next  Commencement,  and  show  the  people  I 
know  down  there  and  the  fellows  that  come  back  the 
Mayor  of  Hampstead.  And  I'm  thirty-two  years  old. 
Jack  Gilbert,  think  of  that."  He  hesitated,  a  look  half 
wistful,  half  humorous,  on  his  face.  "But  I  can't  help 
it.     It  was  born  in  me  like  a  drunkard's  thirst." 

"I  guess  we're  all  a  good  deal  like  that,"  drawled 
Gilbert,   smiling    affectionately  at   his   friend.     "Every 


276  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

time  we  hear  a  band  play  we'd  like  to  think  it's  for 
us." 

"  Oh,  yes;  you  and  the  rest  can  take  a  drink  of  approval 
now  and  then  and  it  won't  hurt  you,  but  I've  got  to  be 
on  a  continuous  spree  or  be  unhappy.  By  the  way," 
he  turned  suddenly  on  Gilbert,  "you  haven't  told  me 
why  you  happened  to  descend  on  that  meeting  the 
way  you  did." 

It  was  Gilbert's  turn  to  look  off  toward  the  lawn  and 
the  hedge  beyond. 

"I  came  directly  from  Miss  Hardy,"  he  said.  "She 
told  me  and  asked  me  to  fix  it  up." 

"She  did  that!"  cried  Billy  with  sudden  enthusiasm. 
Then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Gilbert's  face  and  stopped 
short,  for  it  had  a  hard  look  of  repressed  pain.  "  Well, 
you  certainly  did  the  business,  you  sober  old  fossil," 
he  added  in  the  lightest  tone  he  could  muster,  "but  it 
was  a  mistake.     You're  worth  ten  of  me." 

"Rot,  Billy.  You're  talking  through  the  same  hat 
you  were  when  you  said  you  weren't  thinking  about 
the  great  things  you  had  to  do  for  the  city.  You've 
the  biggest  chance  in  years  right  there." 

"Jack,"  said  Billy  suddenly,  "I  wish  you  could  run  my 
campaign.  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  and  Moriarty  '11 
grind  it  out  in  the  same  old  way.  I've  got  to  get  some 
grip  in  it  or  it  '11  be  a  flat  failure." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  Billy,  but  I'm  likely  to  be  kept 
mighty  busy.  I've  a  strike  on  my  hands.  That's  the 
latest." 

"A  strike  at  the  shops?" 

Jack  nodded,    "There's  a  fat  and  oily  person  named 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  277 

Conlin,  who^s  come  all  the  way  from  New  Haven  to 
tell  the  men  that  they  don't  know  their  own  business. 
He  may  get  'em  out.  They'll  float  out  on  the  streams 
of  his  oratory.  But  they  won't  stay  out  long  and  he 
won't  stay  in  town  long  unless  I'm  mistaken." 

There  was  a  fierce  light  in  Gilbert's  eye  that  Billy  had 
never  seen  before,  and  a  solid,  dangerous  look  about  his 
jaw,  although  his  mouth  was  smiling.  Shortly  they 
started  down  town  together  and  parted  at  the  corner 
by  the  bank,  where  Billy  turned  to  the  left,  bound  for 
the  little  Hampstead  Club  building  where  he  expected  to 
hear,  in  congenial  surroundings,  of  the  opposing  caucus. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"  To  attend  three  union  meetings,  and  to  try  to  prove 
to  the  men  that  New  Haven  can't  get  along  without  Con- 
lin any  longer,  that  the  state  metropolis  is  in  dreary 
desolation  and  that  it's  their  duty  as  citizens  to  buy  him 
a  return  ticket." 

"Isn't  it  dangerous?"  said  Billy  doubtfully.  "They 
might  do  anything." 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  smilingly. 

"It's  a  pretty  good  world,"  he  said.  "There  aren't 
half  as  many  people  who  want  to  shoot  you  and  sandbag 
you  as  the  newspapers  try  to  make  you  think  there  are." 

It  was  a  duel  that  night  between  Mr.  Conlin  and  Jack 
Gilbert.  When  the  portly  Irishman  reached  the  hotel 
victorious,  some  time  after  midnight,  he  was  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  face.  He  looked  around  furtively, 
as  if  he  still  feared  the  presence  of  the  big  man,  who 
had  trailed  him  from  meeting  to  meeting  and  who  had 
made  him  use  every  trick,  every  argument,  every  threat 


278  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  knew  to  win  a  half-reluctant  vote  from  the  men. 
Then  he  shook  his  head  as  he  looked  back  at  the  short 
struggle.  He  had  thought  before  the  first — machinist's — 
meeting  that  he  was  certain  of  a  unanimous  following. 
The  hot-heads,  whose  work  had  been  arranged  before- 
hand, had  been  arguing  with  the  doubtful  ones  before 
the  meeting  began,  when  suddenly  the  big-bodied  super- 
intendent had  entered  and  had  instantly  coalesced  the 
opposition.  It  wasn't  so  much  what  he  said,  Conlin 
agreed,  for  he  talked  simply  and  straight  from  the  shoul- 
der, nor  was  it  the  way  he  said  it,  for  the  man  was  no 
speaker.  It  was  the  man  himself,  fearless,  powerful, 
earnest,  honest,  that  had  forced  Conlin  to  rally  every 
faculty  to  stave  off  defeat. 

Gilbert  had  laid  great  emphasis  on  his  own  personal 
relations  with  the  men.  They  knew,  he  said,  that  he 
would  do  the  square  thing  by  them  if  they  did  the  square 
thing  by  him.  After  Conlin,  in  a  burst  of  his  best  rhetoric, 
had  denounced  capital  and  had  told  the  men  the  old 
story  of  their  woes,  the  large  young  man  had  asked 
calmly,  with  a  smile  of  ridicule  that  made  the  Irishman 
double  his  fists  till  the  nails  bit  into  the  flesh,  what  all 
that  had  to  do  with,  this  particular  case.  His  fists 
doubled  again  now  as  he  remembered  how  he,  Conlin, 
had  forced  them  into  line  one  after  another,  by  threats 
and  cajoling;  as  he  remembered  the  bitter  insults  that 
Jethro  and  Grady  and  others  of  his  aids  had  helped  him 
to  heap  upon  the  yoimg  man,  who  stood  smiling  good- 
humoredly  at  them,  breaking  the  force  of  their  blows 
with  quiet  sarcasm  or  ridiculing  silence;  and  as  he  re- 
membered how,  when  the  vote  was  taken  and  when  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  279 

strike  was  affirmed  and  when  Gilbert  had  been  expelled 
from  the  imion  for  disloyalty,  the  young  man  had  turned 
on  his  heel  and  walked  out,  leaving  a  few  jeering  and 
the  rest  shaken.  The  other  two  meetings  had  been 
easier,  for  the  news  of  the  first  victory  had  given  his 
workers  heart  and  had  placed  Gilbert,  the  outsider,  on 
the  defensive.  But  now,  as  Conlin  sat  in  his  room,  star- 
ing at  a  picture  of  Lincoln  that  was  hung  by  chance  in 
the  midst  of  a  background  of  forget-me-not  wall  paper, 
two  or  three  sentences  rang  in  his  ears: 

"  I*m  as  good  a  union  man  as  any  of  you,  and  the  worst 
of  us  is  better  than  this  man  who  tells  you  to  strike. 
For  we're  honest  and  he  isn't." 

'*  Whether  you  follow  the  crack  of  his  whip  or  not,  I'll 
show  you  the  kind  of  man  he  is  before  I'm  done  with 
him." 

Mr.  Conlin's  fingers  trembled  slightly  as  he  lit  a  cigar. 
For  a  moment  he  was  sorry  he  had  left  New  Haven. 
He  was  a  trifle  afraid  of  the  big  young  man.  Then  he 
thought  of  the  reward  that  would  be  his  if  he  won,  and, 
like  the  hen  and  many  men,  he  began  to  count  the  eggs 
of  his  hopes  as  if  they  were  already  hatched. 

Meanwhile  Gilbert  was  across  the  square,  sitting,  his 
long  legs  crossed,  in  the  box-like  car  of  Mr.  Tubb's  night- 
lunch  wagon,  and  talking  with  Mr.  Peter  Lumpkin. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


TO   DRIVE   DULL   CARE  AWAY 


A  LTHOUGH  it  was  long  after  midnight  when  Gilbert 
/\  finally  went  upstairs  to  bed,  he  was  up  at  an 
-* — ^-  earlier  hour  than  usual  in  the  morning.  His 
mother,  working  in  the  kitchen,  heard  him  out  in  the 
narrow  garden  at  the  back.  He  was  muttering  away,  in 
his  unmusical  bass,  one  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  old  songs.  Now 
and  then  she  caught  a  word  or  two,  emphasized  as  he 
bent  over  the  rows  of  red  salvia  that  ran  along  the  edge 
of  the  garden. 

"  There  ne'er  was  a  flower  in  garden  or  bower 
Like  auld  Joe  Nicolson's  bonnie  Nannie." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  smiled  as  she  hummed  the  words  with 
him,  and  beat  out  with  her  foot  the  time  of  the  simple 
tune.  Then  she  stopped  suddenly,  wondering.  She 
couldn't  remember  ever  hearing  him  sing  that  kind  of 
a  song  before.  Usually  it  was  "  Down  Among  the  Dead 
Men,"  or  "It's  Always  Fair  Weather,"  or  something 
equally  mannish.  What  possessed  the  lad  to  be  sing- 
ing a  sentimental  love  ballad?  Her  face  grew  grave 
with  motherly  intuition. 

When  Gilbert  passed  the  Hardy  house  on  his  way  to 
the  shop,  he  guiltily  hid  as  much  as  he  could  of  a  large 

280 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  281 

bunch  of  salvia  behind  his  burly  form.  At  the  office 
he  tried  to  keep  the  flowers  out  of  the  office  boys*  sight. 
As  he  arranged  the  red  blossoms  on  "the  old  man's" 
open  desk  he  swore  to  himself  that  he  was  a  sentimental 
fool — and  glad  of  it.  Then  he  went  to  the  window  to 
see  if  she  was  coming,  although  it  was  not  yet  eight 
o'clock  and  he  did  not  expect  her  until  nine. 

What  did  he  care  what  happened  to  the  noisy,  sordid 
machine  that  called  to  him  raspingly,  or  for  the  misled, 
grimy  men  who  changed  from  friends  to  foes  in  a  day, 
or  for  the  stubborn  political  fight  just  ahead?  She 
was  coming  out  of  the  dahlias  and  the  chrysanthemums 
of  the  old  garden.  Coming  with  the  ineffably  tender 
look  in  her  dark  eyes  (he  wondered  if  he  could  meet 
their  glance  without  crying  out).  Coming  with  the 
old  tantalizing  sweet  smile  on  her  lips  that  curled  like 
the  heart  of  a  rose  out  of  the  more  faintly  colored  outer 
petals  (he  wondered  if  he  could  see  that  smile  without 
telling  her  how  he  loved  it).  Coming  with  the  dark,  wavy 
hair  whose  perfume  went  to  his  head  as  he  thought  of 
it  (he  wondered  if  he  could  keep  his  big,  ugly  hands 
from  smoothing  the  hair  and  holding  the  dear  head  so 
that  it  could  never  escape  him).  Coming  to-day,  com- 
ing now,  perhaps  coming  to-morrow  and  afterwards  for 
a  time.  Then  she  would  go  away  (he  wondered  if  he 
could  ever  let  her  go,  for  somehow  everything  seemed 
suddenly  hollow  and  empty  at  the  thought  of  it).  Yes, 
she  would  go  but  she  would  leave  something,  a  rose 
or  a  song  or  a  look,  that  could  not  be  forgotten.  But 
he  would  not  think  of  that.  She  was  coming,  coming 
to  him.     And  what  was  he  except  that  he  loved  her? 


282  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

The  old  shadow  returned.  He,  with  no  graces,  no 
learning,  no  anything;  he,  a  failure  in  the  only  struggle 
he  had  ever  made;  he  was  playing  the  mad  fool  merely 
because  she  was  so  prodigal  of  her  sweetness  that  she 
had  let  him  breathe  it  for  a  few  happy  moments.  Never 
mind.  She  was  coming.  There  was  Billy,  of  course. 
She  really  loved  Billy.  But  Billy  couldn't  have  her 
to-day,  and  slie  couldn't'  stop  him  from  loving  her  to- 
day or  any  other  day.  Why  think  of  it?  She  must 
be  on  her  way  by  now.  He  was  sure  that  he  could  sing 
splendidly,  that  he  could  be  a  poet  or  a  painter  or  any  of 
the  wonderful,  impossible  things  that  he  used  to  dream 
of  as  a  boy.  Now  she  must  be  turning  the  corner.  A 
light  step  came  dancing  up  the  stairs  outside.  She  was 
here. 

When  she  entered  he  was  gazing  out  of  the  window, 
singing  to  himself  with  monstrous  indifference.  But  he 
could  not  have  said  what  words  he  was  singing  or  indeed 
that  he  was  singing  at  all.  He  was  listening  to  the 
sound  of  her  footsteps  and  trying  to  be  very  calm.  She 
came  directly  to  him  and  rested  her  hand  lightly  for  a 
mere  second  upon  his  arm;  and,  during  that  second,  he 
knew  how  sad  everybody  else  in  the  world  must  be  in 
comparison  with  him.  He  seemed  so  close  to  her  that 
he  held  his  breath,  so  that  it  might  not  check  the  tingling 
passion  that  ran  through  him. 

"You're  not  a  bit  disheartened."     It  was  her  voice. 

Unconsciously  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  The  hand 
had  dropped  from  his  arm. 

"Oh,  you've  come,"  he  said  solemnly,  but  with  humor- 
ously  evident   insincerity.     He   felt   somehow   that   he 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  g83 

ought  to  look  at  her,  but  when  he  turned  he  stared  past 
her  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"Disheartened?  What  about?"  he  asked.  He  only 
knew  that  she  was  there  beside  him,  and  that  she  was 
wearing  black  and  red  as  she  had  on  the  night  of  the 
Fourth  of  July.  His  view  toward  the  wall  included  her 
slender,  tapering  arm. 

"That's  Uke  you.  Just  as  if  you  hadn't  a  trouble  in 
the  world."  The  arm  disappeared  suddenly  and,  Uke 
a  magnet,  it  drew  him. 

"I  haven't.  They  all  went  when  you  came,"  he 
declared  fervently.  He  had  followed  her  to  the  desk 
where  she  bent  over  the  red  flowers. 

"  Pretty  speech  and  pretty  flowers,"  she  cried,  glancing 
back  at  him,  her  black  eyes  dancing;  and  he  suddenly 
felt  giddy  and  exhilarated,  as  if  he  had  been  lifted  to 
some  great  height  where  the  air  was  light  and  the  sun 
was  shining  very  brightly. 

"We  have  a  very  susceptible  office  boy,"  he  drawled, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  said.  "He  fell  in  love  with 
you  at  first  sight  months  ago,  and  has  been  languishing 
ever  since  in  bitter  and  hopeless  despair.  Not  wishing 
to  break  his  young  and  tender  heart,  I  allowed  him  to 
decorate  your  desk." 

"An  office  boy?"  She  leaned  forward  in  the  swinging 
chair  and  forced  him  to  look  at  her.  "Did  he  say  any- 
thing about  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  went  on  desperately.  "He's  wonderful 
with  adjectives.  He  said  that — that  you  were  very 
beautiful,  you  know,  and — that  you  were  almighty  kind 
to  everybody,  and  that " 


284  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

There  was  a  slight  hesitant  pause. 

"Wonderful  office  boy,"  said  Miss  Hardy,  flushing. 
"I'd  Uke  to  know  him.  I'd  Hke  to  hear  him  say  other 
things  Uke  that." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Jimmy  O'Rourke 
hurled  himself  into  the  room  with  his  customary  haste. 
He  stopped  short  when  he  saw  the  girl. 

"Man  to  see  ye,  sir."  The  boy  looked  from  Gilbert 
to  Miss  Hardy  and  grinned  knowingly. 

"Come  here,  Jimmy,"  said  Gilbert  severely.  The  boy 
came  closer  and,  looking  up  at  the  manager,  he  was 
amazed  to  see  the  big  man's  right  eye  wink  ostenta- 
tiously at  him. 

"  Where  did  you  get  these  flowers  you  brought  for  Miss 
Hardy?"  Gilbert's  eye  did  not  leave  the  boy's  face, 
Jimmy  tentatively  patted  one  worn  shoe  with  the  other 
and  screwed  his  lips  in  thought. 

"I  stole  'em,"  he  said  at  last,  but  his  freckled  face 
showed  no  trace  of  shame. 

"You've  always  liked  Miss  Hardy  very  much,  haven't 
you,  Jimmy?"  the  stem  voice  went  on.  Jimmy  flushed 
imeasily.  He  didn't  consider  it  manly  to  express  his 
affections,  and  to  be  forced  to  express  those  he  had 
never  carefully  considered  seemed  childish.  He  glanced 
shyly  at  Miss  Hardy. 

"Yessir,"  he  said  decisively. 

"You  don't  remember  anything  you've  said  about 
her  except  that  she  was  a — beautiful  and — a — kind,  do 
you?"  Gilbert  was  keeping  a  sober  face  with  difficulty. 
Jimmy  looked  up  under  his  eyebrows,  his  mouth  open 
in  wonder. 


'"/  stole  V..i,'  he  said  at  last.'' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  285 

"  No,  sir,"  he  said  truthfully  enough. 

Clare  Hardy  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  boy. 

'* Thank  you  for  the  flowers,"  she  said.  "I  like  you, 
too." 

Jimmy  took  the  hand  hesitatingly,  grinned  sheep- 
ishly and  then,  to  Miss  Hardy's  merriment  and  Gilbert's 
confusion,  he  turned  his  head  and  winked  twice  at  the 
general  manager.     Gilbert  caught  him  by  the  shoulders. 

"Did  he  tell  you  his  name?"  he  asked  shortly. 

For  a  second  Jimmy  thought  it  was  another  of  the 
series  of  questions.     Then  he  remembered. 

"It's  him,  Conlin,"  he  said  in  an  almost  sepulchral 
whisper. 

"Tell  him  I  don't  care  to  see  him."  Gilbert  led  the 
boy  to  the  door.  When  it  had  closed  and  they  were 
alone  again,  he  moved  quickly  toward  the  window,  his 
hand  smoothing  his  chin,  and  looked  out.  Clare  Hardy, 
her  lips  twitching,  toyed  with  a  paper  cutter  on  the 
desk.  He  turned  after  a  minute  and  her  eyes  were 
raised  to  meet  his.     Then  they  laughed. 

"Jimmy  is  certainly  wonderful  with  adjectives,"  she 
said.  But  the  mention  of  Conlin  had  cast  a  shadow 
upon  them. 

"You  haven't  told  me  what  you  did  last  night,"  she 
said,  suddenly  sober. 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  Conlin  proved  to  the 
men  that  I  was  the  most  dangerous  thief  and  murderer 
at  large.  They  sputtered  and  called  names  and  shook 
their  fists  and  generally  enjoyed  themselves." 

"But  what  did  they  do?" 

"They "     Gilbert  stopped  suddenly  and  listened. 


286  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

The  multifarious  noise  of  machinery  had  grown  fainter. 
They  heard  the  squeaking,  dying  wail  of  the  shafting 
after  the  power  is  taken  away.  The  pulsing  beat  of 
hammers  stopped  short.  From  outside  came  a  straggling 
shout  as  of  boys  when  school  is  out.  "  That's  what  they 
did,"  Gilbert  said  significantly. 

Instantly  all  was  hubbub  in  the  outer  office.  Chairs 
scraped,  windows  were  thrown  up,  and  a  confusion  of 
many  voices  hummed  incessantly. 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  she  cried  as  he  started  toward 
the  door.     He  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

Miss  Hardy  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at 
the  yard.  A  phalanx  of  grimy  men  and  boys  with 
dinner  pails  were  hurrying  by,  some  capering  and  hoot- 
ing, some  swaggering  self-consciously  as  if  on  parade, 
some  talking  and  gesticulating,  some  plodding  along 
stolidly.  She  saw  them  all,  following  the  lead  of 
those  in  front,  look  at  the  awkward  giant,  his  head 
bared  and  the  wind  ruffling  his  thick  hair,  who  had 
at  the  moment  appeared  from  the  door  beneath  her. 
She  watched  him  as  he  passed  them,  waving  his  hand 
to  them  and  calling  a  few  by  name. 

"You're  going  the  wrong  way,  boys,"  she  heard  him 
call,  and,  following  his  gaze,  she  saw  some  of  the  men 
nod  their  heads  anxiously,  and  stop  to  look  after  him 
until  they  were  carried  on  by  the  rush  from  behind 
them.  But  she  shuddered  slightly  and  her  face  flushed 
with  anger  as  she  saw  many  sneer  and  heard  derisive 
shouts,  and  as  she  saw  a  few  swarthy-faced  men,  when 
he  had  passed  and  could  not  see  them,  turn  and  shake 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  287 

their  fists  at  his  back.  And  behind  them  all,  like  a 
shepherd  driving  his  sheep,  came  Conlin,  grinning  malig- 
nantly at  Gilbert,  who  ignored  him.  She  turned  from 
him  in  disgust,  and  watched  the  tall  man  meet  a  little 
group  that  remained  as  if  undecided  what  to  do,  and 
then  she  saw  them  follow  the  others  more  slowly  and 
reluctantly.  Soon  they  were  all  gone  and  he,  with  a 
short,  white-haired  man,  had  disappeared  in  the  building 
beyond. 

She  waited  an  almost  interminable  time,  as  it  seemed 
to  her.  Then,  impatience  and  curiosity  overcoming  her, 
she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and  looked  cautiously 
into  the  outer  office.  It  was  empty.  Evidently  he  had 
told  them  to  go,  along  with  the  others.  The  silence 
was  sepulchral  after  all  the  clamor.  She  started  when 
a  door  slammed  somewhere  below.  She  was  suddenly 
very  lonesome  and  she  wished  that  he  would  hurry. 
Then  her  eye  caught  sight  of  his  name  in  small  black 
letters  on  a  door  beyond,  and,  alert  with  surreptitious 
discovery,  she  tiptoed  across  the  desolate  office  and 
entered  his  little  room. 

With  a  throb  of  delight  she  shut  the  door  behind  her. 
The  fiat-topped  desk  was  piled  high  with  papers  in  wire 
baskets,  and  at  the  back  against  the  wall  was  a  thick 
roll  of  blue  prints.  An  inkwell,  a  case  of  penholders 
and  a  corncob  pipe  lay,  like  straggling  islands,  upon  the 
blue  of  the  broad  blotter,  leather  encased.  A  plain  filing 
case  stood  in  one  corner,  and  in  another  was  a  pile  of 
what  looked  like  junk  to  Miss  Hardy,  stray  machine 
parts  and  tools  thrown  together  there  until  he  could 
find  the  time  to  deal  with  them.     Directly  before  the 


288  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

little  window,  and  just  far  enough  away  for  a  pair  of 
very  long  legs  to  reach,  was  an  old  racked  armchair. 
Miss  Hardy  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  in  it.  She 
looked  at  the  distance  to  the  window  sill  and  shook 
her  head  with  twinkling  eyes.  On  the  walls  were  two 
large  maps  of  the  world  traced  with  broad,  colored  lines, 
a  tinted  picture  of  a  steamship  and  a  large  calendar, 
with  an  old  man  fishing  above  the  lines  of  figures. 

Two  months  before,  Miss  Hardy  would  have  felt  that 
this  simple,  unordered  office  was  offensively  plain,  offen- 
sively careless,  offensively  lacking  in  any  indication  of 
taste.  She  would  have  criticised  it,  and  the  man  who 
occupied  it,  unmercifully.  This  morning  she  noticed 
merely  that  its  eastern  window  made  the  room  warm 
and  friendly,  and  she  said  to  herself  that  everything  in 
the  place  suggested  a  strong  man. 

She  returned  to  the  desk.  It  was  here  that  he  had 
worked  during  these  last  disquieting,  discouraging 
months.  She  curled  herself  up  in  the  swinging  chair, 
and,  tilting  backward,  she  rested  one  flushed  cheek  against 
the  chair  back.  Then,  suddenly  remembering  that  he 
might  come  at  any  moment  and  find  her  there,  she 
slipped  from  the  chair  and  stood  facing  the  door,  expect- 
ing him,  woman-like,  as  soon  as  the  thought  entered  her 
head.  She  would  never  have  forgiven  herself  if  he  had 
caught  her  in  his  room  and  in  his  chair,  but  in  her  heart 
she  wished  him  to  know  that  she  had  been  there.  She 
caught  up  one  of  his  blunt  stub  pens  and  impulsively 
scratched  a  single  line  across  the  blue  blotter,  a  line 
that  had  recurred  to  her  whenever  she  had  thought  of 
him  during  the  last  few  weeks.    Then  she  tiptoed  out, 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  289 

closing  the  door  quietly  behind  her,  and  hurried  across 
to  the  president's  office.  When  he  returned  he  found 
her  sitting  where  he  had  left  her,  thumbing  the  leaves 
of  a  business  directory. 

"I  guess  we'll  go  home  now,"  he  said. 

She  liked  his  saying  that.  Together  they  went  down 
the  creaking  stairs,  and  at  his  suggestion  she  laughingly 
turned  the  lock  in  the  outer  door.  A  small  boy,  playing 
a  harmonica,  stopped  and  eyed  them  curiously  as  they 
turned  away,  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  man  and  the 
radiant  girl.  A  few  minutes  later  the  boy  seated  him- 
self on  the  steps  they  had  left  and,  evidently  inspired 
by  the  silent  mills  behind  him,  he  played  "Every  Day'll 
be  Sunday  By  and  By,"  with  reckless  regard  for  every- 
thing except  rhythm,  which  he  beat  with  one  foot  as  he 
played. 

Gilbert  spent  the  afternoon  alone  at  the  shop.  Much 
of  the  time  he  was  at  his  desk,  his  big  body  sprawled  in 
the  swinging  chair,  his  thick  hair  tousled,  and  a  dreamy, 
far-away  look  in  his  gray  eyes,  that  made  his  homely 
face  with  its  broad-bridged  nose  and  its  heavy  protrud- 
ing jaw  seem  incongruously  boyish.  In  moments  of 
sudden  energy  he  scratched  or  erased  rough  notes  on  a 
yellow  pad  before  him,  until  the  paper  looked,  as  he 
remarked  to  himself,  like  a  Chinese  laundry  ticket. 
When  the  growing  darkness  at  last  broke  in  upon  his 
reverie  he  tore  the  sheet  from  the  pad  and  stowed  it 
away  carefully  in  an  inner  pocket,  although  every  letter 
and  figure  upon  it  was  clear  in  his  mind.  Then  he  took 
the  blotter  from  its  case  and,  wrapping  it,  as  most  men 
wrap  parcels,  into  an  ugly  but  unnecessarily  solid  bundle, 


290  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  let  himself  out  into  the  night,  the  paper  about  the  old 
blue  blotter  crackling  under  his  arm. 

He  was  late  in  reaching  the  big  house  that  night,  and 
conversation,  with  the  little  group  of  men  who  were  await- 
ing him,  halted  temporarily  after  they  had  commented 
upon  every  phase  of  September  weather  for  all  the  years 
they  could  remember.  Gilshannon  of  the  News  was  there. 
Billy  had  found  him  searching  for  Gilbert  and  had 
brought  him  in  to  wait  with  the  others. 

The  pause  in  the  talk  was  only  momentary.  To  argue 
is  as  necessary  to  a  New  Englander  as  to  eat  and  to 
sleep.  By  nature  he  rejoices  in  the  opposite  side  of 
every  question,  and  he  prefers  broad,  general  questions 
of  which  he  knows  only  what  the  daily  paper  tells  him. 
If  he  is  alone  he  will  argue  with  himself,  and  often  he 
will  prove  to  himself  that  he  is  wrong  and  that  the  argu- 
ment by  which  he  proves  it  is  faulty.  When  these  men 
found  that  they  differed  on  the  labor  question,  naturally 
uppermost  in  their  minds  at  the  moment,  they  glared 
at  each  other  pleasantly.  They  dabbed  at  it  as  a  cat 
will  dab  at  a  choice  morsel,  and  played  with  it,  and  finally 
jumped  at  it  eagerly. 

It  was  the  one  question  about  which  the  kindly  Mr. 
McNish  could  be  angry,  and  he  therefore  rejoiced  in  it 
and  sat  forward  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  his  shoulders 
straight,  his  gray  beard  sticking  out  almost  horizontally 
from  his  set  chin.  Colonel  Mead  leaned  back  philo- 
sophically in  a  broad  Morris  chair,  but  his  hand  that  lay 
on  the  chair  arm  was  doubled  up.  On  the  broad  lounge 
opposite  sat  Billy  McNish  and  Gilshannon,  the  latter, 
as  usual,  eager  to  talk. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  291 

"That's  just  it,"  he  said,  eyeing  Mr.  McNish  aggres- 
sively. "Who's  to  say  what  pay  the  workingmen  are 
worth?  The  man  that  hires  them?  Nonsense.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  he'll  hire  them  as  cheaply  as  he  can, 
and  never  pay  them  any  more  than  he  can  help.  He'll 
squeeze  the  life  blood  out  of  them,  and  when  they're 
dry  he'll  turn  them  out,  old  and  without  a  penny, 
for  they've  never  had  more  than  a  scrimping,  living 
wage." 

"What's  yer  scheme,  then?"  asked  the  Colonel  sar- 
castically. "Turn  over  to  the  rabble  the  shops  you've 
put  yer  money  and  brains  into?  That  'd  be  like  openin' 
the  gates  of  a  stockade  and  tyin'  yer  hands  when  ye 
see  the  Injuns  comin'!" 

"Who's  the  rabble?"  asked  Gilshannon,  rejoicing  in 
this  turn  of  the  argument.  "A  number  of  men  combine 
a  lot  of  money  and  build  a  factory.  What  per  cent,  do 
they  want  for  it?  Four,  five,  six?  Not  at  all.  They 
want  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  per  cent.,  every  penny  they 
can  screw  out  of  it.  That's  business.  Now  the  laboring 
men  combine  a  lot  of  labor.  What  wages  do  they  want? 
Two  dollars  a  day?  No,  three  or  four  or  five  dollars, 
as  much  as  they  can  get.  That's  business.  It's  a  fight 
between  the  two,  that's  all.  The  owners  cleverly  circum- 
vent laws  or  have  new  ones  made  to  get  their  ends. 
The  ignorant  workingmen  sometimes  take  the  franker 
way — the  only  way  they  know — of  breaking  the  laws. 
It's  intelligent  selfishness  and  brutality  versus  ignorant 
selfishness  and  brutality." 

Mr.  McNish  arose  and  strode  up  and  down  to  calm 
himself. 


292  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"We're  all  going  to  the  merry  bow-wows,"  remarked 
Billy  disconsolately,  as  he  winked  at  the  Colonel. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  Bible,  Mr.  Gilshannon?"  Mr. 
McNish  asked  solemnly  as  he  sat  down  again. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do."  The  young  man  shook  the 
ashes  from  his  cigarette  nonchalantly.  "It  always  has 
seemed  to  me  that  ever  since  Columbus  proved  that  the 
world  was  round,  Heaven  has  been  flat." 

"Anyone  would  know  you're  a  Harvard  man,"  Billy 
said  in  a  tone  of  feigned  awe. 

Gilshannon  nodded. 

"And  anyone  would  know  you're  not,"  he  retorted. 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  haven't  expressed  a  single  vigorous 
opinion." 

Billy  smiled  with  appreciation.  He  took  the  cigarette 
Gilshannon  offered  him,  after  patting  congratulations  on 
the  reporter's  back. 

"But  what's  yer  scheme,"  the  Colonel  asked,  "or 
doesn't  yer  contract  call  for  buildin'  anythin'  after  ye 
tear  it  all  down?" 

"Give  them  all  an  equal  chance,"  said  Gilshannon 
readily,  "  educate  them  and " 

"Educate  them?"  cried  Mr.  McNish,  breaking  out 
suddenly.  "Yes,  we  pay  taxes  and  educate  their  sons 
so  that  they'll  shake  their  fists  under  the  noses  of  our 
own  boys.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Gilshannon,  there'll  always  be 
'hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water';  there'll  always 
be  class  distinction.  Education  don't  change  a  man's 
blood  nor  his  heart.  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing: 
a  mob  is  a  mob.    That's  no  theory  nor  a  sentence  full 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  293 

of  long  words.  I  helped  to  meet  one  of  the  worst  mobs 
this  country  ever  saw  and  I  know  what  I^m  talking 
about.  While  they  were  killing  defenseless  women  and 
children  in  the  Draft  Riots  of  '63,  there  were  a  lot  of  men 
like  you  who  stood  around  and  talked — copper-heads 
we  called  'em.  The  police  tried  their  clubs  and  the 
militia  shot  over  the  heads  of  the  mob.  It  only  made  'em 
worse.  Then  we  came  up,  a  handful  of  us,  just  from 
fighting  an  army  we  were  proud  even  to  run  away  from. 
It  wasn't  any  holiday  or  tin-soldier  racket  for  us.  When 
they  saw  us  coming  they  laughed,  and  when  our  colonel 
told  'em  to  disperse  they  laughed,  but  after  one  volley 
of  the  kind  the  Johnnies  had  been  standing  against  for 
three  years,  they  didn't  laugh.  We  broke  that  riot 
because  we  shot  to  kill.  And  I  tell  you,  many  a  time, 
to-day,  when  I  walk  along  the  streets  of  this  town, 
which  is  better  than  most,  I  feel  an  itch  for  the  old  gun. 
Bayonet  and  bullet,  I  tell  you,"  added  the  thoroughly 
angered  Mr.  McNish.  "That's  the  only  way  to  handle  a 
mob,  and  the  politicians  are  afraid  to  use  it." 

Mr.  McNish  mopped  his  brow  with  a  handkerchief. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  Bible,  sir?"  asked  Gilshannon 
sternly,  but  his  eyes  were  twinkling. 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  McNish  solenmly.  "It  was  a  mob 
that  killed  Him,  and  Pilate  was  afraid." 

Gilshannon  moved  uneasily  at  the  answer.  Billy 
excused  himself  and  went  out  into  the  broad  hallway. 
A  few  moments  later  the  Colonel,  who,  as  if  in  envy  of 
Mr.  McNish's  story,  had  begun  one  of  his  own,  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  heavy  stamping  of  feet  on  the  veranda,  and 
by  the  appearance  of  Gilbert,  Billy  hanging  to  his  arm. 


294  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"IVe  been  telling  Jack  about  the  'terrible  mob'  and 
'intelligent  selfishness  and  brutality/"  remarked  Billy 
sweetly. 

Gilbert  lit  one  of  Mr.  McNish's  cigars  and  sank  into  a 
large  easy  chair  with  a  deep  sigh  of  content.  Then  he 
smiled. 

"Have  you  mentioned  Hardy  &  Son  to-night?"  he 
asked. 

Mr.  McNish  looked  guilty  and  shamefaced;  Gilshannon 
stared  at  the  big  fellow  quizzically;  and  the  Colonel  shook 
his  head.     Gilbert  laughed  aloud. 

"  At  three  union  meetings  last  night  they  scarcely  spoke 
of  it.  The  talk  was  capital  in  general  versus  labor  in 
general,  and  it  roiled  them  so  much  that  they  struck." 
They  laughed  with  him  now,  all  except  Gilshannon. 

"  But  I  take  it  weVe  got  enough  to  tackle  in  what  the 
News  would  call  'the  concrete  situation.'  Did  you  want 
to  see  me,  Gil?"  Jack  added,  turning  to  the  reporter. 

"The  News  wants  your  opinion  of  the  strike,"  Gilshan- 
non said  simply. 

"My  opinion?"  Gilbert  laughed.  "Nothing  to  say, 
Gil,  for  publication."  And  all  of  Gilshannon's  plausible 
reasoning  did  not  change  his  decision. 

"No,  Gil,"  he  said.  "There's  a  lot  I'll  say  to  you 
privately,  but  not  one  word  to  the  News. 

The  reporter  rose  and  picked  up  his  hat. 

"I'll  move  on  then,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  hear  what 
you've  got  to  say,  but  I'd  better  not.  It  might  appear  in 
the  paper  accidentally." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  Gilbert  turned 
abruptly  to  Billy. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  295 

"I'll  take  on  your  campaign,"  he  said,  "if  you  still 
want  me  to.'' 

The  Colonel  interrupted  before  Billy  had  an  opportu- 
nity to  answer. 

"But  ye  can't  do  it,  boy,  with  all  this  other  thing  on 
yer  shoulders." 

"That's  what  I  said  to  Moriarty  once  when  he  was 
superintendent  down  at  Hardy's,"  was  Jack's  reply.  "  It 
was  about  a  machine.  It  don't  pay,  Moriarty  said  then, 
for  a  Yankee  to  say  that  a  thing  can't  be  done.  The  first 
thing  he  knows  along  comes  some  other  fool  Yankee  and 
does  it.  Now,  I've  been  puzzled  about  a  good  many 
things  for  the  last  six  months,  and  all  the  time  I've  felt 
that  there  was  one  man  back  of  them  all.  He  never 
appears,  and  we're  apt  to  forget  about  him,  but  he's 
there  all  the  time,  getting  what  he  wants.  He's  the  man 
Billy's  really  got  to  fight  to  be  elected  mayor,  and  he's  the 
man  we've  got  to  fight  to  save  Hardy  &  Son.  I  propose 
that  we  join  forces  and  go  after  him  together.  We've 
been  fighting  Brett  and  Merrivale  and  Strutt  and  some 
others  down  at  the  shop.  And  Billy  is  going  to  work 
against  the  whole  Republican  party  at  the  polls.  We're 
banging  away  all  over  the  place  with  shot-guns,  and 
we  aren't  hitting  much  of  anything.  Let's  pool  our 
issues,  buy  a  rifle,  and  aim  it  straight  at  Alonzo  Hub- 
bard." 

Mr.  McNish  shook  his  head  slowly.  Mr.  Hubbard  was 
one  of  the  most  highly  respected  citizens  of  Hampstead. 
He  was  a  leader,  morally,  socially,  and  financially.  The 
idea  of  conducting  a  campaign  against  him  seemed  ab- 
surd.    Mr.  McNish  wondered  if  the  worry  had  not  unset- 


296  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

tied  Gilbert's  judgment.  Billy  stared  at  the  floor  to 
avoid  Jack's  glance. 

"Sounds  all  right,"  the  Colonel  remarked  doubtfully. 
"But  'tain't  possible.  Thar  ain't  time  anyhow."  The 
Colonel  had  entirely  lost  faith  since  the  strike  had  been 
added  to  their  troubles. 

As  they  might  have  known,  if  they  had  thought,  Gil- 
bert was  only  made  more  stubborn  by  their  opposition. 

"I  think  there  is,"  he  said  decisively,  "although  I  wish 
it  was  a  month  instead  of  two  weeks  to  election.  You 
see,  he's  made  one  big  mistake.  He's  back  of  one  thing 
too  many  for  his  own  good." 

The  trio  looked  up  with  frank  inquiry  on  their  faces. 

"He  wanted  to  make  Hardy  stock  cheap  so  that  he 
could  buy  it  for  a  mere  song,"  Gilbert  went  on,  "and 
he  hired  a  mighty  poor  man  named  Conlin  to  do  it 
for  him." 

"Not  the  strike,"  cried  Billy. 

"You  don't   mean   to   say   that   Mr.   Hubbard " 

started  Mr.  McNish. 

"Good  Lord,"  ejaculated  the  Colonel,  "kin  ye  prove 
it?    Do  ye  know  it?" 

Gilbert  smiled.  He  was  enjoying  their  surprise.  But 
he  grew  sober  after  a  minute. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  can  prove  it  and  we'll  have 
more  evidence  later.  But  we've  got  to  be  quiet  about  it. 
The  biggest  card  in  Mr.  Hubbard's  hand  is  that  he  keeps 
his  mouth  shut.  We're  going  to  play  his  own  card  at  him 
till  we  know  where  we  stand.  He's  making  another  mis- 
take that  he  mustn't  realize  till  the  last  minute.  He 
hasn't  had  the  Street  Railway  Company  build  that  short 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  297 

Broad  Street  line  yet.  That's  due  to  be  done  three  days 
after  election.  If  it  isn't  done  at  that  time  the  Council 
can  withdraw  the  franchise.  Of  course  he  thinks  he's 
going  to  own  the  new  Council.  Perhaps  he  will.  And 
of  course  we  want  him  to  think  he  will." 

"  But,"  interjected  Mr.  McNish  doubtfully,  "  the  Coun- 
cil wouldn't  take  away  the  franchise  without  a  good  rea- 
son, would  it,  even  if  the  franchise  was  a  little  one-sided?" 

Gilbert  smoked  rapidly  for  a  few  seconds  as  if  he  needed 
time  to  arrange  his  words.  He  was  talking  more  volubly 
to-night  than  usual,  and  his  tongue  seemed  to  weary  of  the 
unaccustomed  exercise. 

'^It  wasn't  straight,"  he  said  slowly,  "the  way  they 
passed  it.  It  seemed  strange  at  the  time,  but  they  have 
a  majority  of  one  in  the  Council  and  we  let  it  go  as  a 
straight  party  vote.  It  wasn't.  I  put  the  thing  up  to 
Butterson  hard  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  that  he  and 
somebody  else  on  their  side  voted  against  it,  but  promised 
them  to  vote  for  the  secret  ballot.  Two  of  our  men  voted 
for  that  bill,  and  I  think  I  know  who  one  of  them  was. 
That's  one  of  the  things  we've  got  to  find  out — who  the 
men  were  and  how  much  they  were  paid  for  doing  it." 

"Paid?"  cried  Mr.  McNish.  "You  don't  believe  that 
Mr.  Hubbard  would  bribe " 

"  Probably  not  directly.  I  don't  know,  but  I'm  pretty 
sure  it  was  done." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  declared  Mr.  McNish. 

The  bell  rang  sharply  and  a  moment  later  Mr.  Peter 
Lumpkin  appeared,  resplendent  again  with  his  bird's-egg 
blue  cravat,  above  which  beamed  his  usual  expansive 
smile.     Behind  him  came  Joe  Heffler,  eyes  downcast,  as 


298  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

meek  and  timid  as  Mr.  Lumpkin  was  proprietary  and 
hearty. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Lumpkin,  as  he  greeted 
the  group  with  vigorous  hand-shaking,  a  proceeding  that 
was  trying  to  Mr.  McNish's  aristocratic  soul,  '^but  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  all.  Mr.  Gilbert  here  comes  to  me  last 
night  and  he  was  sorely  troubled,  or  words  to  that  effect, 
and  he  asks  me  to  come  to-night.  And  I  says  to  myself, 
'Peter,'  says  I,  ^he's  a  jolly  good  fellow,  and  what's  more 
he's  in  difficulties,  and  what's  more  he's  bigger  than  you 
are.  You'd  better  go  and  see  if  you  can't  assist  him  in 
your  simple,  modest  and  unvarnished  way.'  So  I  goes  to 
Mr.  Tubb  and  I  tells  him  that  my  only  son  was  dying  in 
Tareville, — which  was  economizing  the  truth,  gentlemen, 
seeing  that  your  humble  servant  has  never  been  bound 
by  the  holy  ties  of  matrimony — and  I  asks,  would  he  be 
willing  to  oblige  me  in  my  affliction  by  dispensing  hot 
coffee  and  ham  sandwiches  to  the  hungry  denizens  of  this 
enlightened  metropolis  for  one  evening  only,  event  not  to 
be  repeated  this  season.  And  Mr.  Tubb,  who  is  a  warm- 
hearted man,  gentlemen,  is  at  present  adorned  with  my 
best  white  raiment,  fresh  from  Raymond  &  Company's 
steam  laundry,  occupying  my  humble  station " 

Gilbert  had  been  talking  in  an  undertone  with  Heffler, 
and  he  now  turned  to  the  Colonel  with  so  quick  a  move- 
ment and  with  so  much  excitement  that  Mr.  Lumpkin 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  explanation. 

"Of  course,"  Gilbert  was  saying.  "Don't  you  remem- 
ber, Colonel,  that  night  at  the  church?"  He  hesitated. 
"  No,  you  were  too  far  away.  But  I've  been  a  blockhead. 
It's  Neely,  of  course  it's  Neely." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  299 

"What^s  Neely?"  asked  Billy. 

"Mr.  Junius  Brutus  Neely,  a  fine  Christian  gentleman/' 
remarked  Mr.  Lumpkin.  "A  man  with  a  vocabulary 
second  only  to  Webster  himself.  Particularly  proficient, 
I've  noticed,  in  words  beginning  with  d — destruction, 
damnation,  downward  and  so  forth  and  so  forth  ad 
libitum " 

"  And  ad  nauseam,"  suggested  Billy. 

Gilbert  turned  to  Mr.  Lumpkin. 

"You  know  him?"  he  asked. 

"  Know  him?  "  returned  the  night-lunch  man.  "  Know 
him?  As  I'd  know  my  own  brother,  if  the  fates  had  not 
destined  me  instead  to  the  misfortune  of  sisters;  as  I'd 
know  my  own  deeply  lamented  father,  if  he  had  not  been 
consigned  to  the  dust,  a  baker's  dozen  of  years  ago.  Many 
a  time  has  he  partaken  of  the  justly  renowned  viands 
cooked,  dished  and  served  under  my  own  personal  super- 
vision. He  has  only  one  fault,  gentlemen,  and  it  is  a 
good  fault  in  the  world  filled  with  a  '  superfluity  of  naugh- 
tiness,' or  words  to  that  effect.  He  always  asks  after  my 
immortal  soul  during  his  first  sandwich.  If  he  could  only 
wait  till  the  second,  gentlemen,  it  would  be  much  easier, 
much  easier  for  me.    But  we  all  have  our  faults  and " 

"Lumpkin,"  Gilbert  broke  in,  with  a  nod  to  Joe  Heffler, 
"Joe  wants  to  talk  to  you  privately.  Can  they  use  the 
library,  Mr.  McNish?" 

Mr.  McNish  assented  and,  with  a  courtesy  that  was 
exaggerated  because  it  was  forced,  he  showed  the  two 
visitors  into  the  room  across  the  broad  hallway,  and 
returned,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  disgust  evident 
upon  his  face. 


300  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"They're  good  fellows  and  good  friends,"  Gilbert  said, 
meeting  Mr.  McNish's  questioning  glance  frankly.  "  But 
Peter  talks  too  easily  to  hear  all  we  have  to  say.  He 
wouldn't  mean  to  repeat  a  word,  but  his  tongue  runs 
away  with  him." 

"Like  most  women,"  remarked  the  Colonel.  "Ye  kin 
trust  most  every  woman's  heart  but  ye  can't  trust  any 
woman's  tongue." 

Gilbert  took  from  his  pocket  the  yellow  sheet  of  paper 
with  its  hieroglyphics. 

"Colonel,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  and  Mr.  McNish  to 
send  a  notice  to  all  the  Hardy  stockholders,  saying  that 
the  strike  will  not  affect  the  concern.  Tell  'em  that  the 
stock  is  worth  par  and  more.  Tell  'em  you  know  a 
ridiculously  small  price  is  being  offered,  and  that  you 
want  them  to  let  you  hear  from  them  before  they  make 
any  such  mistake  as  to  sell  out.  Tell  'em  anything  to 
make  'em  hold  their  stock.  Then  I  want  you  both  to  work 
with  Butterson  and  that  man  from  Tareville — he'll  prob- 
ably be  here  to-morrow — to  get  their  indirect  if  not  their 
open  support.  And,  Colonel,  I  want  you  to  put  Mr.  Tubb 
on  your  conscience.     He  mustn't  sell  out  to  Hubbard." 

The  Colonel  scowled  at  the  grocer's  name  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  reply.  He  evidently  thought  better  of  it, 
however,  for  he  merely  nodded.  Mr.  McNish,  following 
the  Colonel's  lead,  bowed  a  dignified  assent. 

"Billy,"  Gilbert  went  on,  "look  up  the  records  of  that 
reservoir  business.  Get  a  fair  valuation  on  the  land  they 
bought.     Go  to  the  bottom  of  the  thing." 

"All  right,"  Billy  said  genially.  "Shan't  I  see  Mori- 
arty,  too?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  301 

"Yes,"  Jack  replied.  "I  forgot  about  that.  I'll  look 
after  the  rest,  with  Joe's  help  and  Lumpkin's  and 
Jimmy's." 

"Who's  Jimmy?"  asked  Mr.  McNish,  in  a  tone  which 
suggested  relief  that  there  was  at  least  one  democratic 
humiliation  Gilbert  had  spared  him. 

"Jimmy?  Why,  Jimmy  O'Rourke,  one  of  my  office 
boys  and  a  good  one,  too.     I  wonder  where  he  is." 

Gilbert  strode  across  the  hall  and  asked  Mr.  Lumpkin 
and  Heffler  the  question.  They  had  not  seen  Jimmy, 
but  they  returned,  Mr.  Lumpkin  eagerly  and  Heffler  with 
evident  hesitation,  to  join  the  group  in  the  parlor. 

"You'll  do  it,  Lumpkin?"  Gilbert  asked,  as  they 
crossed  the  hall. 

"Do  it?"  repeated  Mr.  Lumpkin.  ''Why,  the  minute 
Joe  mentions  the  matter  I  says  to  myself, '  Peter,'  says  I, 
'  he  wants  it  done, — meaning  you,  sir,  of  course, — and  it  '11 
be  a  matter  of  pride ' " 

"Good  for  you,"  said  Jack,  as  they  entered  the  parlor. 

Billy  McNish  and  his  father  were  laughing  at  the 
Colonel,  who  evidently  had  been  talking  and  who  was 
watching  them  with  an  amusing  mixture  of  anxiety  and 
good-humor  on  his  grizzled  face. 

"Why  don't  you  try  something  Western  on  him?" 
Billy  was  saying.     "Lasso  him  or  hold  him  up." 

The  Colonel  chuckled  as  he  looked  up  at  Mr.  Lumpkin, 
who  stood  in  forensic  attitude,  one  hand  shoved  between 
the  buttons  of  his  tight  coat,  his  mild  little  eyes  shifting 
about  the  room  as  if  he  were  looking  for  an  opportunity 
to  speak. 

"Mister  Lumpkin,"  remarked  the  Colonel,  "I'm  plumb 


302  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

interested  in  yer  Mr.  Tubb.  Y'ought  to  know  him  like 
you'd  know'd  George  Washington  if  you'd  a  ben  his 
sister's  husband's  brother." 

Everybody  smiled  except  the  night-lunch  man.  Mr. 
Lumpkin  noticed  neither  the  allusion  nor  the  smile. 
There  are  men  who  coin  phrases  for  their  own  use  and 
who  wear  them  out  with  constant  repetition.  But  Mr. 
Lumpkin  was  more  altruistic.  He  gave  his  phrases 
freely  and  they  seldom  came  back  to  him. 

"Mr.  Tubb,  sir?"  he  said,  clasping  his  hands  com- 
placently upon  his  waistcoat.  "Certainly  you  must 
know  Mr.  Tubb's  reputation  too  well  for  me " 

"Yes,"  broke  in  the  Colonel.  "Tubb's  Uke  a  hull  lot 
o'  men.  Reckon  I  know  his  reputation  like  a  brother, 
but  I  ain't  never  shook  hands  with  his  character." 

"Well,  sir,"  Mr.  Lumpkin  went  on,  paying  no  heed 
to  the  Colonel's  interruption,  "he's  a  man  full  of  faith, 
hope  an'  charity, — these  three,  or  words  to  that  effect, — 
Mr.  Tubb  is.  Of  course,  sir,  a  man  of  business  must 
consider  the  piles  of  shekels,  how  they  growf  or  words  to 
that  effect.  He  must  watch,  with  clear  and  undiminished 
vision,  the  machinations  of  his  deadly  rival  in  the  grocery 
trade.  He  is  proud  of  his  position,  Mr.  Tubb  is,  as  be- 
comes a  man  who  furnishes  food  to  a  great  community. 
What  would  become  of  this  thriving  city,  I  ask  you, 
gentlemen,  if,  for  one  short  week,  its  magnificent  stores, 
dedicated  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  inner  man,  should 
close  their  doors?  Mr.  Tubb  feels  his  power  and  yet  he 
is  humble.     He  goes  to  church  and  mingles  his  voice  with 

the  psalm  of  praise  that  rises  to  the  skies  and  yet " 

Mr.  Lumpkin  paused  to  glance  about  the  room.    Then 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


he  added  in  a  lower  voice — ''He  plays  a  good  game  of 
poker,  so  good  a  game  indeed  that,  if  he  was  not  my 
employer  and,  of  course,  beyond  reproach,  I  should  be 
tempted,  sorely  tempted,  to  ask  him  forcibly  how  he 
arranges  to  hold  four  of  a  kind  almost  every  time  he 
deals."  Mr.  Lumpkin  was  indulging  in  reminiscent  cha- 
grin, but  now  he  caught  himself.  "Not  meaning  any- 
thing against  Mr.  Tubb,  gentlemen.  Merely  wishing  to 
show  you  that  he  is  an  all-round  man,  a  man  of  power 
and  yet  a  man  of  the  people,  a  man  of " 

"Thet's  all  right.  Mister  Lumpkin,'*  said  the  Colonel, 
pulling  his  gray  mustaches.  "Reckon  I'd  know  Tubb's 
character  now,  ef  I  met  it  loose  in  the  street." 

"I  think  we've  had  enough  business  for  to-night," 
Gilbert  remarked.     "  I'm  sick  of  it." 

They  all  agreed  with  him.  No  one  could  have  told 
exactly  how  it  started,  but  a  few  minutes  later  they  were 
gathered  about  Billy  at  the  piano,  while  Mr.  Lumpkin 
repeated  his  first  Hampstead  success  about  the  romantic 
couple 

"  A  euckin'  cider  throo  a  straw." 

When,  following  that,  Mr.  Lumpkin,  on  a  hint  from 
Jack,  started  to  bellow  "To  drive  dull  care  away,"  in  his 
megaphonic  baritone,  they  all  joined  in,  Mr.  McNish  en- 
joying himself  most  of  all,  swaying  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  the  night-lunch  man,  and  grumbling  away  at  an 
improvised  and  not  always  harmonious  bass.  The  Colonel, 
droning  along  in  monotone,  stood  arm  in  arm  with  Gil- 
bert and  Joe  Heffler,  who  were  trying  to  second  the  elder 
McNish's  efforts,  while  Billy  pounded  the  piano  to  make 


304  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

it  heard  in  the  din,  and  added  a  shrill,  jerky  tenor  during 
his  more  leisure  moments. 

"  To  drive  dull  care  away." 

Jimmy  O'Rourke  lounged  about  the  bar  of  the  Hamp- 
stead  Hotel  that  night,  commenting  on  the  day's  base- 
ball scores  with  Mike  the  bartender,  who  whistled  between 
puffs  from  a  long  yellow  cigar.  He  was  there  when  Mr. 
Conlin  entered  from  a  door  at  the  back  that  led  to  the 
servants'  stairway.  Mr.  Conlin  ordered  a  drink  and 
added  a  few  personal  anecdotes  of  ball  players  he  had 
met,  while  Mike,  awed  by  such  intimate  knowledge  of 
great  men,  listened  and  asked  questions  very  deferentially, 
Jimmy  tried  to  sell  Mr.  Conlin  one  of  the  papers  he  had 
under  his  arm,  and  then  drifted  into  an  adjoining  room. 
The  labor  leader  finished  his  drink  and,  remarking  that 
it  was  a  fine  night  for  a  walk,  he  strutted  to  the  side  door 
and  out  into  a  dark  alley  that  led  back  to  a  neglected 
street  of  workmen's  houses.  A  few  seconds  later  Jimmy 
returned. 

"Say,  Mike,"  he  said,  excitedly,  to  the  bartender, 
"they's  a  guy  in  there  that  says  Brennan,  you  know,  av 
de  Chicago's,  is  a  quitter.  It  ain't  so.  Brennan's  all 
right.     Where's  de  stranger  gone?    He  knows  him." 

The  bartender  looked  up  from  his  paper,  eager  for  an 
argument,  and  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  side  door. 
Jimmy  crossed  the  room  quickly.  Once  in  the  alley, 
however,  and  the  door  closed  softly  behind  him,  he 
stopped  and  listened.  In  the  silence  he  could  hear  the 
quick  thud  of  Conlin's  footsteps  on  the  hard  soil  ahead. 
He  crept  close  to  the  brick  wall  and  followed,  scarcely 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  305 

breathing.  Out  into  the  side  street  they  went,  Conlin 
walking  rapidly,  the  boy  behind  him  stealing  along  in 
the  shadows,  watching  him.  Twice  Conlin  turned  sud- 
denly but  he  saw  nothing,  for  the  boy  stopped  in  his 
tracks.  Up  West  Hill  they  went.  Once  Conlin  passed 
under  the  glare  of  a  lamp  at  a  corner  and  paused  in  the 
half  darkness  beyond  for  some  minutes.  Then  he  went 
on,  smiling  complacently,  and,  turning  to  the  left,  he 
made  a  wide  detour  before  starting  down  toward  the 
south  end  of  town.  Once  again  he  stopped,  and  this 
time  he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  great  elm  tree  by  the 
walk.  The  streets  were  quiet  except  for  the  beat  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  at  a  .crossing  below,  and  even  that  far-away 
noise  soon  died  away.  For  some  minutes  Conlin  sat 
quiet  and  listened.  Then  he  struck  a  match,  looked  at 
his  watch  and  lit  a  cigar.  He  did  not  notice  a  form, 
farther  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  obliterate 
itself  against  the  fence  palings. 

Conlin  was  enjoying  the  night,  not  because  it  suggested 
peace  but  because  it  brought  to  him  a  sense  of  stealth 
and,  strange  to  say,  of  sentimentality.  The  two  mem- 
ories that  came  to  him  were  of  a  night  when  a  crowd  of 
strikers  in  New  York  state  set  fire  to  a  factory,  and  the 
night  when  he  had  first  kissed  Katy  Doherty  and  had 
immediately  carried  her  off  to  become  Mrs.  Conlin.  She 
was  dead  now,  Katy,  rest  her  soul,  and  his  little  black 
eyes  grew  suddenly  moist.  He  puffed  away  rapidly  on 
his  cigar  and  was  very  contented. 

He  lit  another  match  and  looked  again  at  his  watch. 
Then  he  stumbled  to  his  feet  and  marched  down  the  hill. 
A  moment  later  the  palings  across  the  way  grew  ani- 


306  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

mated,  and  a  figure  slouched  along  silently  on  the  turf 
by  the  walk.  The  electric  light  at  the  corner  above 
sputtered  and  hissed  and  grew  dim,  and  when  it  started 
once  more  into  its  full  brilliancy  it  shone  only  on  dark 
houses  and  a  deserted  street. 

Conlin's  short  steps  as  he  went  down  the  hill  were  so 
rapid  that  they  approximated  a  run.  He  had  delayed 
under  the  tree  on  the  hill  longer  than  he  had  intended, 
and  he  took  a  straight  course  now,  never  once  turning 
to  look  back  at  the  street  behind  him.  The  arc  light  that 
himg  at  the  corner  facing  Alonzo  Hubbard's  simple  and 
dignified  home  was  not  burning  that  night,  and  Conlin 
smiled  as  he  thought  how  easily  little  things  of  that  kind 
were  managed  by  those  who  had  money  and  power.  He 
crossed  the  broad  lawn,  hid  completely  in  the  darkness, 
and  knocked  at  a  side  door  which  opened  almost  in- 
stantly. He  whispered  his  name,  and,  a  second  later, 
the  door  closed  behind  him,  almost  in  the  face  of  the 
boy  who  had  arisen  from  the  sod  beside  the  entrance. 

The  only  brilliantly  lighted  room  evident  from  the  out- 
side was  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  thither  Jimmy 
crept.  The  shades  were  pulled  down  closely,  but  one 
moved  in  the  faint  breeze,  showing  that  the  window  was 
raised.  Beneath  it  in  the  shadows  the  boy  knelt  and 
Hstened.  At  first  he  heard  only  the  confused  noise  of 
voices.  For  five — ten — fifteen  minutes  he  waited,  the 
dull  ache  of  his  strained  position  adding  to  his  impatience. 
Then  he  suddenly  grew  tense.  A  voice  was  speaking 
noisily  just  above  him,  Conlin's  voice. 

A  few  minutes  later  Jimmy  O'Rourke  slipped  away 
from  under  the  window  and  almost  ran  across  the  dark 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  307 

lawn  to  the  street.  Once  upon  the  sidewalk  he  walked 
briskly  along  and  boarded  a  West  Hill  car. 

The  maid  interrupted  the  swinging  chorus  to  say  that 
there  was  a  paper  boy  at  the  door  who  wanted  to  see  Mr. 
Gilbert.  The  song  stopped  suddenly  and  Jack  went  out 
into  the  hallway.  When  he  returned  he  had  one  arm 
about  the  shoulders  of  a  freckled-faced,  undersized  boy 
whose  mouth  was  twisted  in  a  self-conscious  grin. 

"Jimmy  O'Rourke,  the  boy  detective,"  laughed  Gil- 
bert, by  way  of  introduction. 

And  so  they  began  the  second  verse. 

"  Too  much  care  will  turn  a  young  man  gray 
And  too  much  care  will  turn  an  old  man  to  clay. 

So  we  will  dance  and  laugh  and  sing 
And  merrily  pass  the  day, 

For  we  count  it  one  of  the  wisest  things 
To  drive  dull  care  away." 

The  sedate  old  house  fairly  shook  with  the  noise  of 
it,  and  people  passing  in  the  street  outside  stopped  and 
listened  and  wondered. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  DRIVE  TO   WESTBURY 

HAMPSTEAD  people  watched  the  beginning  of 
the  strike  languidly.  It  would  not  last  long, 
everybody  said.  At  first  the  general  feeling, 
even  in  the  other  shops,  was  rather  against  the  strikers. 
Hardy  men  were  well  paid,  according  to  the  Hampstead 
standard  of  wages. 

Down  at  the  Center,  outgoing  trolley  cars  carried  lei- 
surely men  and  their  families,  all  in  their  Sunday  best,  to 
Clear  Lake  or  to  other  nearby  resorts.  The  fountain  in 
the  little  square  was  surrounded  by  benches,  filled  with 
a  pipe-smoking,  spitting,  noisy,  profane,  dirty,  good- 
natured  crowd,  content  with  temporary  freedom.  Along 
the  edge  of  Main  Street,  on  the  sidewalks  in  front  of  the 
churches,  there  was  strimg  at  any  hour  of  the  day  a 
wavering  line  of  men,  who  listened  to  their  haranguing 
fellows  and  nodded  apathetically  and  wiped  tobacco  juice 
from  their  mouths  and  stared  at  the  passers-by. 

Down  Railroad  Street,  near  the  long  blocks  which 
Hardy  &  Son's  shops  occupied,  men  stood  alone  on  cor- 
ners and  sat  silently  in  open  windows,  watching  sharply 
every  avenue  which  led  toward  the  mills.  Every  hour 
or  two,  night  and  day,  new  pickets  took  their  places  in 
ceaseless  vigil. 

308 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  309 

Slowly  Hampstead  became  more  interested  and  more 
excited  as  the  days  went  by  with  no  settlement,  and  as 
the  noise  of  the  political  canvass  began  to  be  heard. 
The  News  and  the  Register,  both  glad  of  something  to 
relieve  the  monotony  of  the  daily  "Miss  Aniiie  O'Flynn 
is  visiting  relatives  in  Albany,"  and  "Miss  Mabelle  Mc- 
Cartee,  daughter  of  Ex-Alderman  McCartee,  has  returned 
from  Boston,"  gave  large  space  to  their  views  of  the 
political  struggle,  and  reported  verbatim  the  few  speeches 
that  were  made.  Strangely  enough,  however,  the  edi- 
torial pages  of  both  papers  published  daily  unusually 
well-written  articles  condemning  the  attitude  of  Hardy 
&  Son  toward  its  employees.  "It  is  a  pity,"  said  the 
News  one  night,  "that  Mr.  Hardy  is  ill,  for  the  young 
man,  who  is  in  charge  at  this  critical  juncture,  has  been 
too  recently  lifted  from  the  ranks  to  be  properly  con- 
siderate of  the  men.  Moreover  he  seems  to  lack  the 
courage  of  any  definite  conviction,  and  the  concern,  which, 
it  is  said,  is  not  in  too  strong  a  condition  financially,  is 
losing  ground  rapidly  thereby.  It  would  seem  that  the 
directors  or  the  stockholders  of  Hardy  &  Son  would 
object  to  such  a  fatal  policy." 

The  influence  of  these  editorials  grew  daily,  and  the 
storekeepers,  who,  aside  from  Mr.  Butterson,  the  cash 
grocer,  were  farther  each  day  from  collecting  the  growing 
bills  of  the  men,  began  to  center  their  blame  upon  John 
Gilbert.  People  began  asking  why  this  young  Gilbert 
should  be  allowed  to  make  so  much  trouble  for  every- 
body, and  stockholders  in  Hardy  &  Son  grew  more  and 
more  worried  over  the  outlook.  The  men  themselves, 
who  had  followed  Conlin  blindly  into  the  strike,  read  the 


310  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

editorials  and  found  constantly  new  grievances,  not 
against  Hardy  &  Son,  but  against  its  manager.  A  num- 
ber of  business  men,  led  by  ex-Congressman  Strutt,  called 
upon  Gilbert  one  evening  and  emerged,  shaking  their 
heads,  some  fifteen  minutes  later.  The  ex-Congressman 
wrote  a  letter  to  the  Register,  which  appeared  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening,  scoring  Gilbert  directly  and  declaring: 
"Not  content  with  ruining  the  noted  mills  of  which  the 
town  is  righteously  proud,  he  is  dealing  a  blow  to  Hamp- 
stead  progress  that  should  arouse  all  citizens  against 
him."  The  citizens  wondered  at  the  Honorable  Strutt 's 
vehemence,  but  they  re-read  his  words  and  believed  them. 
This  letter  of  the  Honorable  Strutt  seemed  to  give  the 
News,  which  could  not  afford  to  be  left  behind  by  the 
Register,  an  inspiration  for  "interviews.'*  The  first  one 
was  printed  on  the  day  following  the  issue  of  Mr.  Strutt's 
letter,  and  it  completely  convinced  many  of  those  who 
still  held  wavering  allegiance  to  Gilbert.  The  letter  was 
a  dignified  apology  from  Mayor  Brett,  formerly  secretary 
of  Hardy  &  Son,  for  the  conditions  at  the  shops.  Mr. 
Brett  expressed  his  sympathy  for  the  workingmen  who 
had  made,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  a  perfectly  reasonable 
demand;  for  the  other  stockholders  who,  like  himself, 
were  helpless,  in  the  face  of  a  majority  on  the  board  of 
directors,  to  put  an  end  to  the  ruinously  bad  manage- 
ment of  Mr.  Gilbert;  and  for  the  town,  which  must  tem- 
porarily suffer  the  consequences  of  a  strike.  Elsewhere 
in  the  same  copy  of  the  News,  it  was  stated  sorrowfully 
in  large  type  that  Mr.  Gilbert  was  active  for  the  candidacy 
of  Alderman  McNish,  and  the  Register  immediately  took 
this  statement  and  Mr.   Brett's  manly  attitude  in  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  311 

interview  as  important  reasons  for  urging  the  election  of 
Mr.  Brett  by  a  large  majority.  One  week  before  the 
election,  therefore,  Mr.  Brett  seemed  certain  of  the  sup- 
port not  only  of  the  self-styled  '^better  people"  of  both 
parties,  but  as  well  of  a  good  proportion  of  the  labor  vote. 
Meanwhile  the  group  of  men  about  Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard 
were  offering  Hardy  stockholders  a  very  moderate  price 
for  their  stock. 

Only  two  achievements  seemed  to  mark  Gilbert's  work 
during  the  eight  days  that  had  passed.  One  of  these 
was  that  he  had  carted  three  new  automatic  machines 
from  the  freight  yards  to  the  factories  in  broad  daylight, 
before  the  eyes  of  the  Union  pickets.  The  other  event, 
which  aroused  considerable  indignation,  was  reported 
fully  in  the  papers.  One  morning,  it  seemed,  he  had 
heard  a  noise  as  he  sat  in  the  factory  office.  He  had 
gone  out  into  the  mills  and  had  discovered  Councilman 
Martin  Jethro,  a  foreman,  who  declared  afterwards  that 
he  had  come  to  get  some  tools,  his  own  private  property. 
Gilbert  had  seized  Jethro,  without  waiting  for  any  expla- 
nation, and  had  literally  thrown  him  through  the  window. 
Jethro  had  been  cut  severely  by  the  glass  and  had  been 
bruised  by  the  fall,  the  papers  said,  but  he  had  refused 
to  make  a  complaint. 

In  spite  of  the  increasing  agitation  of  the  Hampstead 
male  mind  over  the  strike,  the  leading  women  in  town 
had  contented  themselves  with  mere  personal  comment 
upon  Gilbert  and  Mr.  Brett  and  the  others  concerned, 
and  with  expressions  of  disgust  at  the  loafers  that  made 
it  unpleasant  to  go  down-town.  On  the  Tuesday  after- 
noon, however,  exactly  a  week  before  election  day,  there 


312  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

occurred  the  monthly  meeting  of  the  Women's  Club.  The 
regular  program  announced  included  a  paper  on  "The 
Philosophy  of  Robert  Browning,"  presented  by  Mrs. 
Bradley-Bassette.  Mrs.  Bassette's  paper  quoted  thirty- 
one  passages  from  various  authorities  on  the  subject; 
but — ^because  she  did  not  wish  to  interfere  with  the 
symmetry  of  her  essay  by  mentioning  the  quotation 
marks;  and  because  none  of  the  other  ladies  had  looked 
up  the  statements  of  the  authorities  on  this  particular 
subject;  and,  most  of  all,  because  Mrs.  Bassette  was  a 
very  popular  woman,  who  subscribed  generously  to  the 
lecture  fund  and  who  wore  a  gown  that  was  worthy  of 
careful  inspection — ^no  one  noticed  how  the  authorities 
had  been  honored. 

The  other  paper  was  on  the  "Love  Letters  of  the  Brown- 
ings" and  was  the  product  of  Cordelia  Snif kins'  genius. 
Cordelia  Snifkins  was  a  confessed  authoress.  She  had 
written  literally  hundreds  of  love  stories,  which,  after 
going  the  rounds  of  the  few  magazines  in  which  Miss 
Snifkins  cared  to  have  the  creations  of  her  pen  appear, 
had  been  tied  up  carefully  in  pink  ribbon  and  put  away. 
"  Just  as  Frank  Stockton  did,"  the  lady  herself  remarked. 
"You  know,  he  wrote  for  years,  too,  before  the  editors 
grew  up  to  him,  and  afterwards  he  sold  for  large  prices 
all  the  lovely  things  that  he  had  written  and  that  they 
had  refused."  Miss  Snifkins  was  as  tall  as  the  proverbial 
bean-pole  and  her  dresses  properly  twined  upon  her. 
She  had  a  long  nose  and  a  sharp  voice.  She  was  forty- 
five  years  of  age  and  single,  although  it  can  be  asserted 
that  she  was  blameless  for  either  of  these  misfortunes. 
Miss  Snifkins,  withal,  was  the  essence  of  modesty.     When 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  313 

the  only  story  of  hers  which  any  publisher  had  ever 
accepted  appeared  in  print,  Miss  Snifkins  had  done  her 
best  to  be  perfectly  natural  and  unaffected  with  her  former 
acquaintances.  She  admitted,  however,  to  a  friend,  who 
without  a  smile  suggested  to  her  that  it  must  be  a  pleas- 
ant sensation  to  be  great,  that  *'it  did  rather  uplift 
one." 

Miss  Snifkins^  eloquent  paper  completed  the  prear- 
ranged program,  but  the  president  had  a  surprise  in  store. 
Remarking  in  a  short  speech,  obviously  unprepared,  that 
the  labor  question  was  "timely  and  opportune,'^  she 
called  for  extemporaneous  discussion.  Mrs.  Robert 
Brett,  a  pale  little  woman  who  was  the  chairman  of 
the  Hampstead  Hospital  committee,  arose  and  read 
a  short  argument  on  '^The  Oppression  of  Honest 
Labor."  The  paper  was  written  with  surprisingly  mas- 
culine vigor,  and  it  used,  by  open  suggestion,  the  Hardy 
&  Son  strike  as  an  example  to  prove  its  text.  No  extem- 
poraneous discussion  followed.  Instead,  the  women 
crowded  around  Mrs.  Brett  and  congratulated  her.  Sud- 
denly they  had  attained  understanding  and  convictions 
concerning  labor  troubles.  Conditions  must  be  reformed 
and  the  working  people  must  be  helped.  Some  of  the 
members  wished  to  do  something  immediately,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  they  could  do  at  last  except  to  go 
home,  and  homeward  they  journeyed,  talking  as  they 
went. 

The  next  day's  issues  of  the  News  and  the  Register 
reported  fully  Mrs.  Brett's  remarks,  and  printed  edito- 
rials commending  them,  although  there  had  been  no 
reporters  at  the  meeting.    A  few  of  the  cynically  incUned 


314  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

members  admitted,  when  they  read  it,  that  Mrs.  Brett 
was  a  "  clever  advertiser,'*  but  nearly  all  of  them  quoted, 
as  their  own,  catch  phrases  from  her  paper. 

There  was  everything,  in  the  outward  appearance  of 
the  situation  that  Tuesday  night,  to  make  Mr.  Hubbard 
and  his  associates  supremely  contented.  Even  two  of 
the  leading  preachers  had  played  into  their  hands  in 
their  Sunday  sermons.  And  most  encouraging  of  all  was 
the  way  in  which  Mr.  Conlin  had  risen  to  the  situation. 
Once  over  his  initial  fear  of  Gilbert,  he  played  the  part 
of  a  slandered  leader  of  a  righteous  cause  so  perfectly 
that  he  had  almost  come  to  believe  in  himself,  and  strutted 
about  with  increasing  dignity.  He  had  talked  with  good 
effect  to  business  men  in  Hampstead,  some  of  whom  were 
stockholders  in  Hardy  &  Son.  He  had  increased  his  hold 
upon  the  men.  Uneasy  as  certain  groups  of  the  strikers 
had  become,  there  had  been  no  violence  to  alienate  the 
people's  sympathy  or  to  harm  the  shops.  The  only  act 
approaching  hoodlumism  had  occurred  one  morning  on 
Railroad  Street,  when  one  of  a  group  in  a  window  sent  a 
stone  singing  past  John  Gilbert's  head,  as  the  tall  man 
strode  by  toward  the  silent  mills.  Gilbert,  as  the  story 
went,  turned  and,  taking  off  his  cap,  stood  looking  smil- 
ingly about  him.  Then,  singling  out  the  group  at  the 
window,  he  called  out  good-naturedly  something  about 
their  marksmanship  never  winning  any  cigars,  and  went 
on  slowly  down  the  street.  And,  strangely  enough, 
some  of  the  men  in  the  window  cheered  him  and  no  more 
stones  were  thrown. 

Only  two  things  worried  Mr.  Strutt  or  Mr.  Brett:  the 
silence  of  John  Gilbert  and  the  suspicious  lack  of  enthu- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  315 

siasm  among  the  supporters  of  Alderman  McNish.  They 
had  made  Gilbert,  as  Mr.  Brett  said,  the  most  impopular 
man  Hampstead  had  ever  known.  But  he  paid  no 
attention.  He  had  not  even  made  a  public  statement 
of  his  attitude  toward  the  strike.  The  opposition  politi- 
cal campaign  had  been  even  less  vigorous  than  usual. 
The  only  evidence  of  activity  was  the  work  which  Colonel 
Mead  and  Mr.  McNish  were  doing  in  retarding  the  sale 
of  Hardy  stock.  Mr.  Strutt  remarked  that  they  had 
underestimated  their  own  skill  and  overestimated  John 
Gilbert's,  a  solution  that  was  humanly  satisfactory. 

It  was  on  Wednesday  that  Gilshannon  of  the  News, 
with  an  eye  to  the  sensational  possibilities  for  his  paper, 
suggested  casually  to  Mr.  Brett  that  Gilbert  might  be 
induced  to  take  part  in  a  joint  political  debate  to  be  held 
on  the  night  before  election  day.  Gilshannon  argued 
that  ex-Congressman  Strutt  could  easily  out-talk  him, 
and  that  Gilbert's  refusal  would  hurt  him  more  than  his 
acceptance.  The  challenge  was  promptly  published,  and 
Gilshannon  followed  it  on  Thiirsday  afternoon  by  a  call 
at  the  Gilbert  house. 

Thursday  afternoon,  however,  found  John  Gilbert  dri- 
ving a  pounding,  slouch-eared  livery  horse  toward  West- 
bury,  and  by  his  side,  her  face  pale  from  confinement 
indoors  and  clean  cut  as  a  cameo  against  her  waving 
black  hair,  sat  Clare  Hardy.  Gilbert  had  not  even  seen 
her  in  the  week  that  had  intervened.  Mr.  Hardy  had 
grown  steadily  worse,  and  the  doctor,  coming  soberly 
from  the  sick  room  on  the  morning  after  her  last  visit 
to  the  shops,  had  permitted  her  to  join  the  nurse  at  Mr. 
Hardy's  side.   There  she  had  remained  almost  constantly. 


316  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

except  for  a  ride  or  two  with  Billy  in  the  Hardy  auto- 
mobile. 

To  Gilbert  her  absence  brought  a  sudden,  blank  depres- 
sion that  staggered  him.  But  he  worked  on  doggedly, 
sending  occasional  messages  to  her  by  his  mother.  He 
said  to  himself  that  he  must  put  her  out  of  his  mind, 
knowing  as  he  said  it  that  he  could  not  do  anything  of 
the  kind.  He  said  to  himself  that  Billy  was  his  friend, 
and  then  almost  hated  Billy  for  his  own  sacrifice.  He 
told  himself  that  it  was  all  for  the  best.  And  yet  he 
realized  that,  try  as  he  would,  he  had  lost  much  of  his 
interest  in  the  struggle  before  him.  The  double  task 
seemed  suddenly  hopeless.  The  taste  of  the  fight  had 
lost  its  tang,  and  the  blows  that  were  being  struck  at  him 
daily  from  behind  his  back  did  not  stir  him.  He  plodded 
along  without  that  fire  of  enthusiasm  which,  from  weaker 
material,  often  molds  many  a  mighty  power.  There 
were  times,  however,  when  a  force  stronger  than  his  will 
seemed  to  draw  him  toward  the  Hardy  house,  and  to-day, 
with  a  drive  to  Westbury  before  him,  he  had  yielded  to 
it.  When  she  joined  him  he  started  to  take  a  circuitous 
course  through  many  side  streets  to  the  Westbury 
road. 

"Why  are  we  going  this  way?"  she  asked. 

"People  are  known  by  the  company  they  keep,"  he 
said  with  a  smile.  "IVe  a  reputation  now.  The  News 
says  I'm  the  most  unpopular  man  in  Hampstead.  I  can't 
afford  to  appear  in  public,  driving  with  an  ordinary  popu- 
lar person  like  you." 

For  answer  she  resolutely  took  the  reins  from  his 
hands  and  turned  the  horse  toward  the  Center. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  317 

"You're  morbid,"  was  all  she  said,  while  he  looked  on 
contentedly. 

It  was  strange  how  different  the  world  looked  to  Gil- 
bert from  that  hired  buggy  with  Clare  Hardy  beside 
him.  The  trees  at  the  roadside  had  put  on  their  autumn 
colors  of  dark  red  and  yellow,  and  rolling  fields,  their 
crops  already  harvested,  stretched  away  green  and  brown 
on  either  side.  Occasionally  the  road  led  them  past 
straggling  frame  houses,  weary  with  age,  and  now  and 
then  they  caught  sight  of  men  like  moving  dots  on  the 
far-away  hillsides.  The  people  whom  they  met,  red- 
cheeked  girls  and  tanned,  brawny  men,  called  "good- 
day"  to  them,  and  one  tall,  gawky  fellow,  mowing  before 
a  dignified  old  colonial  house  with  broad  white  pillars, 
waved  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  as  they  drove  by. 
Everywhere  were  simple,  sociable  people  working  under 
a  kindly  sun  on  a  peaceful  land. 

"God's  country,"  said  Gilbert  quietly,  scarcely  con- 
scious that  he  was  speaking.  "This  makes  you  under- 
stand why  people  like  to  get  back  to  Connecticut.  There's 
a  home  feeling  about  it.  I  have  a  notion  right  now  that 
it  all  belongs  to  me  and  I  to  it.    Do  you  feel  that  way?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  did  until  to-day.  I'm  afraid 
I  never  thought  much  about  it.  I  only  began  to  grow 
up  a  month  or  two  ago,  you  know." 

The  girl  looked  dreamily  away  from  him  toward  the 
open  fields. 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  why  you  haven't  been  to 
see  me,"  she  remarked  a  little  later. 

"No,"  he  said  gravely,  "and  I'm  not  going  to," 

"You  thought  I  didn't  care." 


318  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"No." 

"You  were  so  busy  you  forgot  all  about  me." 

"ATo/" 

"I  wasn't  of  any  use,  so  you  went  to  see  those  who 
were." 

"iNTo//" 

"Then  why?" 

"Did  you  notice  that  bird?    What  was  it?" 

Miss  Hardy  hesitated  at  this  rebuff. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  fair,"  she  asked  at  last,  "you  in 
the  midst  of  things  and  I  shut  indoors,  reading  those  Ues 
in  the  papers  and  listening  now  and  then  to  Billy's  in- 
coherencies?" 

At  her  last  words  Gilbert  glanced  at  her  questioningly 
and  then  looked  away  from  her  upturned  eyes,  his  pulse 
beating  rapidly. 

"There  wasn't  much  to  tell,"  he  said  lamely. 

"Does  that  excuse  you?" 

"No." 

"I  was  hurt.  I  nearly  didn't  come  this  afternoon." 
Clare  Hardy  had  clearly  forgotten  her  minute  and  hasty 
preparations  for  the  drive. 

"I'm  sorry." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"Yes,  you  do." 

It  was  her  turn  to  look  away  suddenly  at  the  fields 
that  seemed  to  move  slowly  past  them. 

"What  have  you  done,"  she  asked  more  quietly,  "and 
what  will  you  do?" 

"Everything  you've  suggested  and  will  suggest,"  he 
said,  smiling. 


W'-'- 


"V><5 


■Mm 


'  You're  morbid,'  wa.s  all  she  said.'' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  319 

Miss  Hardy  wrinkled  her  forehead  into  a  puzzled  little 
frown. 

"Are  you  making  fun  of  me  or  don't  you  want  to  tell 
me?"  she  asked. 

"It's  true.  You've  suggested  everything  to  me  that 
we've  done.  You  suggested  that  Mr.  Hubbard  was  back 
of  the  strike." 

Miss  Hardy  started. 

"Why,  I  never  even  heard  of  it,"  she  said.  "Is  he? 
Oh,  no,  it's  impossible." 

"You  suggested  to  me  that  the  biggest  reason  he  wants 
the  shop  is  that  he  owns  the  West  bury  mills,"  Gilbert 
went  on  relentlessly. 

"But  I  shouldn't  have  dreamt  what  it  meant  if  I  had 
known  about  it,  and  I  didn't  know,"  gasped  the  girl. 

"  Neither  did  anyone  else.  I  don't  know  it  yet.  That's 
why  we're  driving  to  Westbury." 

Clare  Hardy  gave  a  low  cry  of  pleasure.  Then  her 
brows  knit  suddenly. 

"But,"  she  said,  "what  do  you  mean  by  saying  that 
I  had  anything  to  do  with  it?" 

"I'll  show  you.  I've  a  notion  that  there  was  dis- 
honesty connected  with  a  grant  to  the  Street  Railway 
Company  last  spring.  I've  been  trying  for  a  week  to 
find  out  how  to  prove  it.  You  suggested  a  way  to  me 
about  four  miles  back,  when  we  weren't  talking  because 
the  coimtry  was  so  beautiful." 

"But — how  can  you  say " 

"Perhaps  one  reason  why  I  didn't  come  to  see  you," 
Gilbert  interrupted,  "was  that  it  was  hard  for  me  to 
admit  that  it  was  only  when  you  were  with  me  to  sug- 


320  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

gest  things  that  I  had  any  ideas,  that  I  was  useless  when 
I  was  alone." 

Miss  Hardy  stared  at  the  road  ahead  where,  through 
the  trees,  the  outlying  houses  of  Westbury  town  could 
be  seen.  Gilbert's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  hand  that  lay 
curved  with  unconscious  grace  upon  her  lap.  He  had 
never  realized  before  that  driving  gloves  were  really 
beautiful. 

"You're  trying  to  make  me  very  proud,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"My  name  used  to  be  Jack." 

"Mine  was  Clare  then,"  the  girl  retorted.  Then  she 
laughed  gayly.  "  It  always  seems  funny  to  hear  you  say 
'Miss  Hardy'  in  that  grave  voice  of  yours." 

"I'll  say  Clare  Uke  a  boy." 

"Do  you  remember,  Jack  Gilbert,"  she  cried,  ignoring 
his  glance,  "how  you  and  Billy  used  to  take  turns  rescu- 
ing me  from  the  Indians,  and  how  hurt  I  was  because  you 
both  wanted  to  be  the  Indian  every  time?  I  was  actually 
afraid  that  sometime  both  of  you  would  creep  upon  me 
at  once,  and  I'd  never  be  rescued." 

Gilbert  nodded,  and  they  drove  on  silently. 

"It's  taken  us  all  a  long  time  to  remember  it,  Clare." 

"We've  never  really  forgotten.  Jack." 

They  were  in  Westbury  by  this  time,  bowling  along 
under  giant  old  maples  and  elms  that  stretched  out,  with 
bowed  heads,  a  trembling  benediction  over  the  quiet 
street.  Gilbert  pulled  in  the  horse  to  ask  their  way  of 
a  man  passing  on  a  crosswalk. 

"Westbury  mills?  Oh,  yes,"  he  said  with  an  English' 
accent.  "Ye  take  the  first  left— hit's  there  in  the  trees 
yonder— an'  then  ye  keep  h'agoin'  huntil  ye  come  to  a 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  321 

street  to  the  left.  Now  ye  don't  take  that  street  'cause 
hit  leads  hup  the  'ill.  Ye  keep  h'agoin'  an'  ye  come  to  a 
crossin'.  That's  where  the  church  is.  Then  ye  keep 
h'agoin'  an'  ye  take  the  second  right  an'  keep  h'agoin'  till 
ye  turn  to  the  left — not  the  first  one  'cause  that  only  goes 
a  little  way,  but  the  second  one.  Then  ye  keep  h'agoin' 
huntil  ye  come  to  the  one — two — three,"  counting  on  his 
fingers,  ''third  right,  an'  then  ye'd  better  hinquire.  I've 
forgotten  whether  hit's  the  third  or  the  fourth.  There's 
a  shorter  way " 

But  Gilbert  had  already  thanked  him  and  had  spoken 
to  the  horse.  As  soon  as  they  were  hidden  from  the  man. 
Miss  Hardy  burst  into  little  convulsions  of  laughter  that 
she  punctuated  every  now  and  then  with: 

"Ye  keep  h'agoin'.  Jack,  ye  keep  h'agoin'." 

Strangely  enough,  they  found  the  way  easily,  and 
Gilbert  soon  drew  rein  and  sprang  from  the  carriage  in 
front  of  the  newly  built  office-building  of  the  Westbury 
mills. 

''Shall  I  come,  too?"  she  asked. 

"  No.  They  may  not  take  kindly  to  me  inside,  and 
I'm  proud." 

For  a  second  he  stood  smiling  at  her.  He  was  won- 
dering whimsically  whether  she  would  really  be  there 
waiting  for  him  when  he  came  out.  Then  he  turned 
and  went  slowly  up  the  steps.  It  was  not  until  he  had 
opened  the  door  and  stood  in  the  room,  walled  in  by  high 
counters  and  wire  partitions,  that  the  vision  of  her  in 
black  and  white  faded  from  before  his  mind's  eye.  And 
when  it  disappeared  it  left  him  imusually  alert  and  clear- 
headed. 


322  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  Good-afternoon,"  he  said  pleasantly,  to  a  boy  behind 
a  desk.     "Is  Mr.  Hubbard  here?'' 

"Mr.  Hubbard?''  asked  the  boy  wonderingly. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hubbard  of  Hampstead.  I  had  a  notion 
that  he  would  be  here  to-day." 

"I— I'll  ask  Mr.  Hooker." 

The  boy  vanished  behind  a  door  beyond,  marked 
"  President,"  from  which  he  quickly  reappeared,  followed 
by  a  dapper,  officious  little  man  with  a  gray  beard,  who 
took  short  nervous  steps  and  seemed  constantly  irritated. 

"Well,  sir?"  he  asked,  frowning  up  at  the  big  man. 

"I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Hubbard,  Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard 
of  Hampstead,"  drawled  Gilbert  affably.  Mr.  Hooker 
looked  him  over  quizzically. 

"Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard,"  he  said  musingly,  never  once 
taking  his  eyes  from  his  visitor's  face.  "  Yes,  I've  heard 
of  him.  But  he  isn't  here;  hasn't  been  here.  Is  he — 
did  you  mean  that  you  thought  he  was  coming  here 
to-day?" 

"I  may  be  mistaken,"  said  Gilbert.  "May  I  use  your 
'phone?"  he  asked  suddenly  "Perhaps  I  can  get  him 
on  the  wire." 

"Why — certainly."  Mr.  Hooker  stared  at  him  doubt- 
fully. Then  he  opened  a  little  gateway  and  added, 
"Come  into  my  office,  sir." 

While  Gilbert  was  instructing  the  local  central,  Mr. 
Hooker,  although  ostentatiously  busy  with  papers  on 
his  desk,  shifted  his  eyes  often  to  the  open-faced,  smiling 
man  opposite  him. 

"I  brought  you  in  here  because  I  thought  it  might  be 
private  business,"  he  remarked,  when  Gilbert  hung  up 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  323 

the  receiver  and  sat  waiting  for  ''long  distance ''  to  get 
Hampstead  for  him. 

"I^m  obUged  to  you.  It  is."  Gilbert's  eyes  looked 
at  him  understandingly  and  continued  to  smile. 

Mr.  Hooker  seemed  relieved. 

"  My  being  here "  he  started  to  suggest. 

"Oh,  not  at  all." 

Mr.  Hooker  nodded  complacently.  The  bell  rang. 
Gilbert  leaned  over  the  'phone,  his  eyes  upon  Mr.  Hooker, 
who  had  turned  and  was  watching  him. 

"Hello — no,  I  want  Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard.  No,  no- 
body else  will  do." 

There  was  a  moment's  tense  silence,  in  which  a  paper 
on  a  table  by  the  window  fluttered  noisily  imder  a  paper 
weight.  Gilbert  spent  the  time  hoping  that  the  distance 
would  make  the  answers  inaudible  except  to  him. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Hubbard." 

"Yes,"  came  a  voice  so  dully  that  even  Gilbert,  the 
receiver  close  to  his  ear,  could  scarcely  hear  it. 

"This  is  Westbury." 

"Yes;  who's  talking?" 

"Mr.  Hooker's  private  office.  Doors  closed."  Gilbert 
winked  deliberately  at  Mr.  Hooker  before  he  went  on. 
"Thought  you'd  like  to  know  I've  one  hundred  H.  and 
S.    Understand?" 

"Good.     Talk  carefully.     Whose  was  it?" 

Gilbert  pressed  the  receiver  more  closely  to  his  ear  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  sound. 

"How  many  do  you  lack  now?"  he  asked. 

' '  About  fourteen  hundred.    Whose  was  it ,  did  you  say  ? ' ' 

Gilbert  hesitated. 


324  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Is  the  election  all  right?"  he  asked  desperately. 

"Oh,  certain.     But,  Hooker,  whose  was  it?" 

"Better  not  say.  I'll  wTite.  There  was  something 
else,  but  I  can  find  that  out  here.     Good-by." 

Gilbert  hung  up  the  receiver  quickly  and  looked  at  Mr. 
Hooker.     Mr.  Hooker  smiled  jovially  at  him. 

"Everything  going  well?"  he  asked. 

"Like  a  summer  breeze,"  drawled  his  visitor.  "It  '11 
be  all  over  in  a  week." 

"What  was  it  you  wanted  to  find  out  here?" 

"I  want  to  glance  at  the  stock  book." 

Mr.  Hooker  rang  a  bell  and  sent  a  tall,  thin  man  to 
the  safe. 

"Business  improving  during  the  righteous  Hardy 
strike?"  asked  Gilbert  with  a  grin. 

Mr.  Hooker,  now  entirely  at  his  ease,  said  that  it  was 
too  soon  to  see  any  great  change.  But  he  chatted  proudly 
of  a  few  large  orders  that  had  come  in,  and,  incidentally, 
of  the  shrewdness  he  himself  had  displayed  in  obtaining 
them.  Gilbert  took  the  stock  book  from  the  hands  of 
the  clerk  and  thumbed  it  over  hurriedly,  making  mem- 
oranda as  he  went  along.  Mr.  Hooker  sat  watching  him 
thoughtfully. 

"I  suppose  this  is  Mr.  Merrivale,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  No,"  said  Gilbert  slowly,  making  a  few  last  entries  in 
his  note  book.    "YouVe  got  me  wrong." 

He  arose  and  towered  over  the  little  president  as  they 
shook  hands. 

"Not  Mr.  Merrivale!"  said  Mr.  Hooker  anxiously. 
"Why,  I  thought  I  knew  the  others:  Mr.  Brett  and  ex- 
Congressman  Strutt,  and—who  are  you,  sir?" 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  325 

Gilbert  smiled  down  at  him  pleasantly. 

"My  name  is  Gilbert,  Mr.  Hooker/'  he  said.  "John 
Gilbert.  I'm  manager  of  Hardy  &  Son.  You  may 
report  to  Mr.  Hubbard  that  I  have  one  hundred  shares 
of  that  stock  if  you  think  it  is  wise  for  you  to  do  so.  I 
think  he  knows  it  already.  I'm  greatly  obliged  to  you 
for  your  courtesy,  and  I'm  really  sorry  I  had  to  take 
advantage  of  it.     Good-day,  sir." 

Mr.  Hooker,  white  with  anger  and  fear,  stood  staring 
after  the  big  man.  He  turned  then  and  rang  a  bell,  but 
the  boy  who  answered  it  found  the  president  pacing  up 
and  down  the  floor  irresolutely.  Meanwhile  Gilbert  had 
taken  his  place  silently  in  the  carriage  outside. 

"What  happened?"  asked  Miss  Hardy  as  they  drove 
down  the  street. 

"Oh,  I've  been  telephoning." 

"But  you're  shaking  like  an  ague  patient." 

"Very  likely." 

As  he  told  her  slowly  what  he  had  done,  urged  on  by 
her  persistent  questions,  a  glowing  exhilaration  swept 
over  him  until  it  reached  her  also,  and  they  were  both 
laughing  and  talking  excitedly.  In  their  absorption  they 
lost  their  way  in  the  winding  Westbury  streets,  and  a 
kindly  faced  notary,  at  whose  house  they  made  inquiries, 
very  naturally  insisted  on  misunderstanding  their  errand, 
to  her  amusement  and  his  embarrassment. 

The  ride  home  that  afternoon,  while  the  shadows 
lengthened  across  the  road  and  the  twilight  sounds  broke 
the  twilight  silence,  was  far  too  short  for  them  both. 
Men  in  heavy  wagons,  free  after  the  day's  toil,  greeted 
them  jovially,  for  their  faces  were  too  happy  to  be  passed 


326  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

in  silence.  Small  boys,  driven  in  rope  harness  by  other 
small  boys,  raced  with  the  horse  and  beat  him  easily  amid 
loud  shouts  of  triumph  from  mimic  horse  and  driver.  The 
broad  fields  smiled  at  them  and  the  jovial  old  sun  winked 
from  the  crest  of  the  western  hills. 

When  they  came  to  where  the  outlying  south  end  of 
Hampstead  squatted,  dull  and  silent  in  the  growing  dusk, 
he  pulled  back  the  horse,  eager  for  home,  into  a  walk. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  there  could  never  be  an  afternoon 
like  this  one  again.  Too  rapidly  they  passed  through 
the  Center  and  too  rapidly  they  toiled  up  West  Hill.  The 
realities  of  the  silent  Hardy  house,  with  its  curtain-drawn 
windows,  sobered  them. 

"A  wonderful  afternoon,  Jack."  He  was  helping  her 
from  the  carriage. 

"The  most  wonderful,"  he  said  with  conviction. 

"It's  been  like  old  times." 

"We'll  have  them  again,  perhaps,  the  three  of  us,"  he 
said,  suddenly  remembering  Billy. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  "the  three  of  us." 

A  smile,  a  firm  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  she  was  gone. 

Gilbert  found  Gilshannon  awaiting  him  on  the  steps 
outside  the  little  house.  It  was  the  reporter's  third  visit 
during  the  afternoon. 

"Hello,  Gil."  Gilbert's  greeting  was  hearty.  "The 
News  found  some  new  reason  why  I'm  the  boy  curse  of 
this  be-u-tiful  town,  as  the  ex-Congressman  says." 

"That  new  Register  man's  inside  waiting  for  you," 
Gilshannon  said  with  a  wink.  "Went  right  by  me  in 
the  dark.  He's  with  the  Colonel  and  Billy.  You  know 
that  Mr.   Strutt  has  challenged  you  to  a  wordy  duel. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  327 

What  do  you  say  to  it?  That's  what  I'm  here  to  find 
out/' 

Gilbert  stretched  and  clasped  his  big  hands  behind  his 
neck  thoughtfully. 

"I'll  say  this  and  not  a  word  more,  Gil,"  he  said  slowly 
after  a  moment.  "Mr.  Strutt  is  a  lawyer  and  an  orator; 
I'm  not.  He  could  convince  an  audience  of  what  is 
wrong  more  easily  than  I  could  convince  them  of  what  is 
right.  Besides  that,  Mr.  Strutt — and  Mr.  Brett,  too,  as 
far  as  that  goes — are  merely  the  cat's-paws  of  a  much 
more  dangerous  power.  Concerning  that  power  some- 
thing may  be  said  later.  I  shan't  answer  what  you  call 
his  challenge.  What's  the  use  of  talking  about  such  a 
fool  idea  as  that?" 

"Can  I  say  all  that?"  asked  Gilshannon  excitedly. 

Gilbert  hesitated.  He  stood  thinking  for  so  long  a 
time  that  the  reporter  turned  to  look  apprehensively  at 
the  house. 

"Let  me  see.  To-day  is  Thursday.  You'll  print  it 
to-morrow,"  Gilbert  said  at  last.  "Yes,  you  can  say 
that,  Gil,  and  you  can  say,  too,  that  there'll  be  a  big 
mass  meeting  for  men  at  the  Opera  House  Saturday 
night.     We'll  send  down  an  ad.  to-morrow." 

"And  the  Register?"  insisted  the  reporter. 

"I'll  give  you  first  chance,  Gil."  Gilbert  took  two 
cigars  from  his  pocket  and  handed  one  to  the  reporter. 
"Now,  Gil,"  he  added,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  for 
me?" 

Gilshannon  took  Jack's  arm  and  led  him  half  way 
down  the  front  walk. 

"  I've  been  going  to  tell  you,"  he  whispered,  "  only  you 


328  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

mustn't  tell  where  you  got  it.  ,  Merrivale  bought  off  the 

"  Of  course.    How  much?  " 

"Three  hundred." 

"Sure?'' 

"Well,  I  ought  to  know.     I  did  the  business." 

Gilbert  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Still  playing  both  sides,  Gil?" 

"Yes,"  the  reporter  grinned,  "but  I  bet  ten  dollars 
on  Billy  to-day  at  one  to  ten.  Can't  afford  to  lose  it. 
'Night,  Jack." 

There  was  a  friendly  slap  on  the  back,  subdued  laugh- 
ter, and  Gilshannon  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

When  Gilbert  and  his  mother  were  left  alone  an  hour 
later,  they  sat  silent  for  some  minutes  in  the  little  sitting- 
room.  He  was  suddenly  aware  that  he  had  been  neg- 
lecting her  throughout  the  past  week.  As  he  looked  at 
her,  rocking  gently  opposite  him,  staring  thoughtfully 
at  her  toil-hardened  hands,  she  seemed  to  him  to  have 
grown  old,  and  he  realized  that  she  had  been  suffering 
for  him. 

"What  are  you  thinking,  mither?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  wondering  if  it's  right,  laddie,  what  you're  do- 
ing, what  you  did  to-day; — if  it's  Christian  to " 

"They're  a  pack  of  scoundrels,"  said  Jack  with  sudden 
heat. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair.  When  she 
looked  up  she  had  ceased  to  rock. 

"Can  you  whip  them,  Jack?"  she  asked  anxiously. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BRICK   BLOCK   LOSES  A  TENANT 

THAT  evening,  as  the  slouching  livery  horse  came 
leisurely  homeward  from  Westbury ,  a  man  and  a 
woman  sat  on  a  broad  couch  in  a  room  of  the 
Broad  Street  brick  block.  It  was  a  front  room,  one 
flight  up,  a  room  of  dull  colors  and  shadows  in  the  chang- 
ing light  of  the  sunset  and  the  afterglow.  Even  in  the 
dusk,  however,  it  was  a  room  of  contrasts.  Three  cane- 
seated  chairs  that  suggested  a  bargain  sale  were  grouped 
about  a  green-topped  card  table.  Two  large  paintings 
in  heavy  oak  frames  were  surrounded,  on  a  red  burlaped 
wall,  by  cheap  photogravures  and  colored  pictures  cut 
from  magazines.  A  small,  delicately  carved  table,  which 
indicated  both  wealth  and  taste,  was  surmounted  by  a 
few  torn  paper-covered  novels  and  two  photographs  in 
cheap  gilt  frames.  Grotesque  weavings  of  cigarette 
smoke  hung  in  mid  air  and  curled  about  the  white  plaster 
figure  of  a  saint  upon  the  mantel.  It  was  a  room  of 
contrasts.  And  perhaps  the  pair  on  the  couch  furnished 
the  greatest  contrast  of  all:  the  short,  slender,  young- 
faced  man  with  his  ruffled  gray  hair,  and  the  blonde  girl 
with  her  full  figure,  her  full,  parted  lips  and  her  blue 
eyes,  heavy-lidded  as  they  stared  dreamily  at  the  curling, 
shadowy  smoke. 


330  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"You  said  that  just  as  if  you  meant  it,  Joe,"  she 
whispered,  moving  uneasily  in  the  tight  clasp  of  his 
arms. 

Joe  Heffler's  left  hand  caught  a  stray  wisp  of  yellow 
hair  from  her  forehead  and  smoothed  it  back  tenderly. 

"Course  I  meant  it,"  he  said. 

The  woman  quivered  at  the  caress.     Then  she  laughed. 

"It's  a  cinch  not  to  have  to  work,"  she  remarked. 

Heffler  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then  he  nodded. 

"As  long  as  the  cash  holds  out,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  guess  that  ^1  be  all  right."  Gerty  Smith 
laughed  again  until  she  saw  the  double  shadow  upon  his 
face.  Then  she  caught  his  arm,  and,  almost  before  he 
knew  it,  she  had  kissed  him  and  had  buried  her  head 
against  his  shoulder. 

"I  love  you,  Joe.  I  love  you,  do  you  hear?  I  love 
you;  I  love  you;  I  love  you." 

Suddenly  she  slipped  from  him  and  threw  herself  upon 
one  of  the  small  chairs,  one  arm  curled  along  its  curved 
back. 

"It's  a  dream,  you  know,"  she  said  pitifully,  half  to 
herself.  "But  don't  wake  me  up  yet.  It's  the  first 
time  I  ever  really  cared." 

Heffler  straightened  up  and  ran  his  fingers  nervously 
through  his  gray  hair. 

"Same  here,"  he  said. 

"It's  funny,  Joe,"  she  went  on  dully  after  a  pause. 
"I've  had  a  bunch  of  men  talk  to  me  about  love  and  all 
that,  but  none  of  'em  talked  it  the  way  you  do.  They 
said  it  better,  but— well — there's  a  big  difference.  Say, 
you  make  me  feel  I've  been  a  downright  bad  lot." 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  331 

"Forget  it/'  Heffler  returned,  with  that  masculine 
dominance  which  some  men  show  only  when  they  are 
with  women.  "I'd  been  in  hell  or  worse  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  John  Gilbert." 

The  woman  nodded  reflectively. 

"He  did  the  square  thing  by  you  all  right,"  she  said. 

Heffler's  mild  face  lit  up  with  a  strange  smile  of  con- 
tentment. But  he  hesitated.  He  had  come  to  a  crisis, 
and  Heffler  shrank  from  crises.  They  reminded  him  of 
handcuffs  and  the  court.  Joe  Heffler  had  felt  only  two 
strong  passions  in  his  life.  One  was  that  mysterious, 
unreasoning  affection  for  the  woman  in  the  chair  yon- 
der, and  the  other  was  a  loyalty  to  the  man  who  had 
befriended  him,  which  amounted  almost  to  worship.  He 
knew  that  the  man  did  not  ask  any  such  service  of  him 
as  he  had  planned,  but  he  felt  that  John  Gilbert  needed 
it.  There  was  no  question  in  his  simple  heart  of  what 
he  himself  might  lose. 

"He's  in  trouble."  Heffler  leaned  forward  earnestly. 
"Your  man  Brett  and  the  others  are  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

At  the  name  of  Brett,  Gerty  Smith  started  and  rose 
to  her  feet. 

"Brett?"  she  said  complainingly.  "Say,  Joe,  you've 
woke  me  up.     He's  coming  here  to-night." 

Heffler  was  beside  her  in  an  instant  and,  catching  her 
arms,  he  turned  her  about  until  her  face  was  toward  the 
failing  light. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "I'd  've  had  the  whole  town 
told  about  it  long  ago,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  What  're 
you  going  to  do  about  him?" 

The  woman  seemed  to  be  frightened  by  the  question. 


332  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  ''  I  hate  him  now.  Honest, 
I  do,  Joe." 

"All  right."  Heffler  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  brought 
forth  a  wrinkled  piece  of  paper.  ''I  want  you  to  prove 
it,"  he  went  on  bluntly.  "There  are  some  questions  on 
this.     I  want  the  answers." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  but  she  took  the  paper 
and  went  to  the  window,  holding  the  paper  to  the  light. 
Then  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know  any  of  'em,"  she  said. 

"You  don't?"  he  asked  quietly.  "Then  I  want  you 
to  find  out — to-night." 

The  last  word  seemed  to  flash  the  reality  of  it  all  across 
the  woman's  mind. 

"I  can't  do  that,  Joe,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Look  here."  Heffler's  voice  showed  his  irritation. 
"You've  been  tattling  to  them  about  us.  All  I  want  you 
to  do  is  to  square  the  thing  with  us,  and  quit  even  with 
the  game." 

"I  dasent,"  she  answered.  "Haven't  got  the  nerve, 
Joe." 

Heffler  waited  until  the  silence  became  more  cruel  to 
her  than  anything  he  might  have  said. 

"What  'd  he  do  to  me  if  he  caught  me?"  she  asked 
appealingly.  "And,  besides,  he's  paying  me  for  the 
things  I've  told  him.     I've  got  to  live,  Joe." 

"It's  living  or  loving  then,"  said  Heffler  laconically. 
"You  can  choose  between." 

Her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped  nervously  over  the 
paper. 

"I  can't  do  it,  Joe,"  she  said. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  333 

"All  right.     Good-by." 

The  door  closed  behind  him  before  she  realized  that 
he  was  going.  She  did  not  cry  out.  She  merely  sank 
back  miserably  upon  the  couch  and  buried  her  head  upon 
her  arms.  Her  whole  life  ranged  itself  before  her  and 
she  cringed  away  from  the  vision  of  it.  A  sense  of  her 
complete  degradation  came  to  her.  Love  taught  it  with 
stinging  strokes.  Gerty  Smith  had  never  thought  long 
about  anything.  She  had  known  only  what  she  saw 
and  what  she  heard  and  what  she  felt.  To  be  admired, 
to  be  cared  for,  to  have  the  things  which  she  saw  other 
women  have,  these  had  formed  her  only  goal.  Love 
had  been  merely  a  word, — a  rather  silly  word,  she  had 
been  led  to  believe.  Even  now  she  could  not  under- 
stand it,  and  she  tried  to  tell  herself  that  she  was  many 
kinds  of  a  fool.  After  a  time  she  lit  the  light,  and  went 
across  to  look  at  herself  in  the  glass.  She  began  to 
rearrange  her  hair,  tossing  her  head  with  attempted 
bravado.     But  after  a  moment  she  turned  away. 

"Living  or  loving,'*  she  repeated  aloud.  "Living  or 
loving." 

The  lights  in  the  Broad  Street  brick  block  were  extin- 
guished one  after  another,  \mtil  only  one  window,  one 
flight  up,  in  the  entire  front  was  marked  by  a  dull  glare 
from  behind  its  heavy  curtain.  Above,  Hampstead  was 
stretching  out  lazily  upon  its  two  hills  and  going  to 
sleep.  A  few  blocks  away  Mrs.  Brett,  letting  herself  into 
her  empty  house  after  a  prolonged  hospital  committee 
meeting,  was  saying  to  herself  that  she  would  be  glad 
when  her  husband's  busy  campaign  was  finished.     Broad 


334  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Street  grew  more  and  more  deserted,  until  the  heavy  step 
of  the  policeman  on  that  beat  alone  echoed  up  and  down 
the  short  thoroughfare. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  midnight  from  the  nearby  bell  of 
the  old  First  Church,  Mayor  Robert  Brett  started.  He 
was  sitting,  leaning  forward,  his  elbows  on  the  card  table. 
His  cheeks  were  flushed  and  he  was  smoothing  his  closely 
cropped  mustache  nervously.  Opposite  him  was  Gerty 
Smith,  one  arm  leaning  languidly  across  the  green  cover 
of  the  table;  the  other  caught,  with  seeming  carelessness, 
at  one  of  the  pockets  beneath.  The  whiteness  of  her 
face  seemed  almost  to  spiritualize  her  large,  coarsely 
pretty  features.  She,  too,  heard  the  bell  and  she  saw 
dimly  the  sudden  alertness  of  the  man  across  the  table. 

*'Yes,"  she  cried  almost  boisterously,  ^' money  '11  buy 
almost  anything — almost  any " 

The  man  looked  up  suddenly.  Then  he  raised  himself 
to  his  feet  and  called  to  her.  She  did  not  answer.  She 
hung,  a  dead  weight,  on  the  edge  of  her  chair.  He  fol- 
lowed the  edge  of  the  table  to  her  and  shook  her  shoulders 
convulsively.  Then  he  stood  straight  and  tried  to  think. 
Perhaps  she  was  dead.  He  had  heard  of  things  like  that 
happening.  The  outwardly  impassive  Mr.  Brett  was 
anything  but  a  brave  man  at  heart.  In  his  uncertainty 
he  wandered  toward  the  door  at  the  back,  thinking  only 
of  finding  help.  His  eye  caught  the  glint  of  a  polished 
push  button  on  the  wall  near  the  door,  and  he  hurried  to 
it.  A  push  button  meant  her  sister  or  somebody  else, 
and  a  general  shifting  of  responsibility  from  his  caving 
shoulders.  With  an  effort  he  drove  it  deep  with  his 
thumb.    Then  he  tried  to  cry  out,  and  he  could  not  in 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  335 

his  terror,  for  the  room  was  suddenly  in  total  darkness, 
except  for  a  weird,  glimmering  reflection  from  a  street 
lamp  below.  Frantically  he  groped  for  the  other  button 
which  he  knew  must  be  near  by,  but  his  trembling  hands 
could  not  find  it. 

He  stopped  at  last  and  tried  to  remember  where  the 
hall  door  had  been  before  he  turned  off  the  lights,  but 
he  could  not.  He  could  think  of  only  one  thing.  Some- 
where off  in  the  darkness  she  lay,  all  in  white.  The 
thought  terrified  him.  He  called  to  her  again,  but  no 
answer  came.  The  window  rattled  a  ghostly  tattoo  in 
the  night  wind.  Sweat  broke  out  upon  him,  and,  whim- 
pering with  maudlin  fear,  he  instinctively  made  his  way 
along  the  wall.  The  small  table  fell  before  him  with  a 
resounding  crash,  and  a  moment  later  he  stumbled  upon 
the  couch.  Standing  straight  once  more,  he  swayed  along 
past  the  window  where  the  light  gave  him  more  courage. 
He  went  on,  feeling  his  way  before  him  with  one  hand, 
while  the  other  reached  its  slow  path  on  the  burlaped 
wall.  He  tried  to  think  where  she  was,  and  the  uncer- 
tainty and  the  silence  frightened  him  again.  He  hurried 
faster  now.  His  right  hand  shoved  a  picture  from  its 
support,  and  it  came  down  beside  him  with  a  dull  thud, 
the  broken  glass  jingling  about  his  feet.  Then  he  uttered 
a  low,  inarticulate  cry  of  joy.  The  burlap  ended  and 
wood  took  its  place,  wood  that  shook  under  his  touch. 
He  groped  for  the  knob,  found  it,  and,  throwing  the  door 
open,  he  stumbled  across  the  threshold,  slamming  the 
door  shut  behind  him.  He  stopped  short  and  listened 
with  sudden  cunning.  Then  he  found  the  stairway  in  the 
silent  darkness,  and  began  the  slow  and  labored  descent. 


336  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Not  fifteen  minutes  afterwards,  Joe  Heffler  appeared 
under  the  dingy  street  lamp,  and  crept  cautiously  up 
the  stairs.  He  had  seen  from  below  that  her  window  was 
dark.  In  his  own  little  hall  room  he  lit  his  light  and, 
with  the  same  match,  his  pipe.  He  was  in  no  mood  for 
sleep.  Throughout  the  evening  he  had  been  mingling 
with  the  strikers  in  saloons  and  on  the  streets.  He  had 
come  home  at  last  when  there  was  none  left  to  listen  to. 
Now  he  was  putting  together,  piece  by  piece,  the  things 
he  had  heard.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  listened  breath- 
lessly. The  faint  knock  at  his  door  was  repeated  with 
nervous  insistence. 

"Joe,"  came  a  weak  voice. 

He  opened  the  door  cautiously,  and  she,  leaning  against 
it,  came  with  it  and  into  his  arms.  Without  a  word  he 
supported  her,  clinging  to  him,  back  across  the  hall  and 
into  the  still  dark  room.  Steering  his  way  carefully  to 
the  couch  by  the  window,  he  unfastened  her  arms,  which 
seemed  unwilling  to  let  him  go.  Then  he  found  the 
button  and  turned  on  the  lights.  He  looked  about  him 
at  the  debris  of  the  table  and  picture,  and  then  at  her 
chalky-white  face. 

"Rough-house,"  he  remarked  good-humoredly. 

"I — I  fainted,  I  guess — I  fainted,"  she  said  with  a 
pitiful  smile. 

"What  was  the  row?"  asked  Heffler,  still  peering  about 
the  room  with  a  puzzled  grin. 
■  The  woman  bolstered'  herself  up  by  her  arm  and  stared 
at  the  disorder. 

"  I  dunno,  Joe,"  she  said.  "  He  had  a  good  deal  to  drink. 
Perhaps  he  got  mad.     I  dunno,"  she  repeated  wearily. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  337 

Heffler  glanced  at  the  door  leading  into  the  next  room. 

''Where's  your  sister?"  he  asked  suspiciously.  "She 
must  've  heard  the  noise." 

"  She  ain't  there.  She's  out  of  town  looking  for  a  job. 
That's  what  I'll  have  to  do  now,  I  guess." 

She  raised  herself  with  a  sudden  jerky  movement. 

''Oh,  Joe!"  she  cried.  "The  table.  It's  there.  I  did 
it.     The  table.     Open  it  up." 

Heffler  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  table  top. 

" This  side,"  she  called.     " There!     In  the  pocket." 

With  an  exclamation  of  triumph  Heffler  held  up  the 
wrinkled  piece  of  paper,  and  studied  the  notes  that  were 
scratched  unevenly  opposite  his  questions.  He  passed 
two  entries  with  nods  as  if  he  had  expected  the  answers. 
At  the  third  he  turned  excitedly. 

"Our  crowd  stock.  Jethro  and  Neely  two  hundred 
and  fifty — four  hundred.  What's  the  four  himdred?" 
Heffler's  voice  was  eager. 

"Mr.  Hubbard  was  ready  to  pay  that,  but  they  got 
'em  for  two-fifty." 

"Mean  little  shrimps!  What  does  this  'close  half 
mean  at  the  bottom?" 

"He  said  they'd  close  half  the  shops  when  they  got 
'em,"  she  answered.  "Then  he  said  something  or  other 
about  Westbury." 

"Can't  you  remember  what  he  said?"  he  asked  roughly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said  weakly.     "I  can't." 

Heffler  sat  down  with  his  back  to  her.  He  began  to 
write  carefully  upon  the  back  of  an  envelope,  with  a 
pencil  he  had  found  on  the  floor  by  the  chair.     The 


338  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

woman  stared  at  the  outline  of  him.  He  had  not  spoken 
a  tender  word  to  her.  He  seemed  to  care  nothing  for 
her  sacrifice.  He  had  merely  used  her  to  get  the  facts 
from  Mr.  Brett.  She  weakened  quickly  and,  sinking 
back  on  the  couch,  she  hid  her  face  from  him. 

"You're  sure  that's  all?"  he  asked,  as  he  came  to  the 
end. 

"Yes,"  came  the  low,  stifled  answer. 

He  folded  up  the  paper  and  put  it  carefully  in  an  inside 
pocket,  as  he  arose  and  turned  toward  her. 

"That  was  a  good  job,"  he  remarked  more  to  himself 
than  to  her.    " How  d'ye  feel?"  he  asked  her  hesitatingly. 

"  Rotten,"  she  said  indifferently,  turning  her  head  back 
and  facing  him.  "I'm  going  to  get  up  in  a  minute  and 
start  packing.  I'm  going  away  in  the  morning.  You 
can  run  along  now,  Joe.  Good-by,  if  I  don't  see  you 
in  the  morning,  and  good  luck." 

Heffler  slowly  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the 
other  and  smiled  cheerfully. 

"  I'm  not  going  along,"  he  remarked  with  considerable 
decision,  "and  you  aren't  going  to  do  any  packing.  I 
guess  you'd  better  go  in  the  morning,  but  just  now  you're 
going  to  tell  me  what  to  pack  and  then  you're  going  to 
sleep.  I'll  wake  you  in  time  to  see  if  it's  O.  K.  Then 
we'll  get  a  license  and  get  married.  You'll  go  to  my 
aunt's  in  New  Haven  and  I'll  follow  you  as  soon's  I 
can." 

Wonderment,  doubt,  and  joy  struggled  upon  Gerty 
Smith's  face  as  she  raised  herself  quickly  on  her  arm. 

"Married?"  she  cried.  "Married,  Joe?  You  marry 
me?    Oh,  Joe!"    She  fell  back  and,  hiding  her  face  in 


nm 


\ 


With   an  exclamation  of   triumph   Heffier  held   up    the 
wrinkled  piece  of  paper.''' 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


a  cushion,  she  wept  with  great  convulsive  sobs  of  happi- 
ness that  shook  her  entire  body. 

Heffler  ran  his  hand  nervously  through  his  hair.  Then 
he  went  to  her  and,  sitting  beside  her,  he  lifted  her  until 
she  sat  with  her  head  leaning  against  his  shoulder  and 
with  her  waist  held  awkwardly  in  the  crook  of  his  arm. 

"Shut  off  yer  crying,"  he  said  appealingly.  "Now  we 
haven't  either  of  us  been  tin  angels,  but  we're  going  to 
be  respectable  together,  see?  And  we'll  make  good,  you 
and  me.  It  isn't  what  you  have  been  that  counts,  but 
what  y'are  and  what  you're  going  to  be.  How  old  are 
you?" 

"Twenty-eight." 

"Well,  I'm  thirty-four.  Just  about  time  to  get  a 
second  wind.  And  say,  we  haven't  merely  been  told 
that  it  don't  pay  to  go  to  the  devil.  We  know.  And 
some  time,"  Heffler's  voice  grew  in  fervor,  "years  from 
now,  we'll  come  back  here  to  John  Gilbert  and  we'll  say  to 
him,  *  We're  just  as  square  and  straight  and  on  the  level 
as  you  are,'  we'll  say  to  him;  and  when  we  can  tell  him 
that  I'll  be  satisfied.  I'd  rather  have  him  shake  hands 
with  me  on  earth  than  go  to  heaven  when  I  die." 

She  looked  up  at  him  through  her  tears. 

"You're  a  brick,  Joe,"  she  said. 

"So're  you,  little  woman."  He  kissed  her  twice  ten- 
derly. Then  he  made  her  lie  down  and  tell  him  what 
to  do  with  her  things.  When  he  imderstood  he  picked 
her  up  and  staggered,  with  her  in  his  arms,  back  through 
the  dark  hall.  There  he  bathed  her  head  and  opened  his 
own  bed  invitingly  for  her.  Then  he  lit  his  pipe  once 
more,  and,  whistling  merrily,  he  left  her  and  went  to 


340  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

work  in  her  dismantled  room.  He  was  glad,  as  he  looked 
about  him,  that  they  Hved  only  one  flight  up,  with  a  store 
beneath  them.  Joe  Hefiler  could  pack  like  a  woman,  but 
the  noise  he  made  was  that  of  a  man. 

He  was  still  there  when  the  sun  mingled  its  first  light 
garishly  with  that  of  the  street  lamps.  At  seven  o'clock 
he  rapped  hesitantly  at  his  own  door  until  she  answered. 
Then  he  went  back,  leaving  the  door  of  her  room  open. 
He  could  hear  her  moving  about.  She  was  humming.  It 
was  the  "Wedding  March,"  but  Heffler  did  not  know  it. 
He  only  realized  that  she  was  happy,  and  he  whistled 
"Good-morning,  Carrie"  softly  in  reply. 

"But  the  pictures,  Joe,  and  the  table  and "  she 

started  to  say  as  she  glanced  about  the  bare  room. 

"He  put  up  for  those.  Let  him  have  'em.  We're 
going  to  start  new." 

"But "  she  objected,  looking  about  at  the  only 

valuable  things  she  had  ever  owned.  Her  glance  came 
back  to  him.     She  held  out  her  hand. 

"You're  the  right  sort,  Joe.     I  don't  want  'em." 

Joe  Heffler  soon  disappeared  into  his  own  room. 
When  he  returned  he  bore  a  bulky,  irregular  bundle, 
which  he  placed  almost  tenderly  upon  her  trunk. 

"What's  that?"  she  asked. 

"Your  wedding  present,"  he  said  shortly.  "It's  a 
tilting  water  pitcher,"  he  added,  looking  away. 

Gerty  Smith  put  both  arms  about  him,  locking  his  own 
arms  to  his  sides.     Her  face  was  very  close  to  his. 

"The  thing  you  won  that  night  at  the  Fair?"  she 
asked. 

"The  night  he  gave  me  a  chance."    There  was  a  set- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  341 

tied  look  about  Heffler's  chin,  a  new  look  of  confidence 
in  his  face  and  manner.  ''It's  better'n  a  ring  for  us, 
Gerty.  You're  going  to  take  it  along.  It  was  the  be- 
ginning, Gerty,  and  we  aren't  ever  going  back  on  it, 
are  we?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes 
for  the  second  time  that  day,  although  Gerty  Smith 
had  always  believed  that  tears  were  something  to  be 
despised.  She  could  not  speak,  but  her  lips  seemed  to 
tell  him  that  everything  was  all  right,  eternally  all  right. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  they  sat  down  to  a  meager 
breakfast  at  the  railroad-station  restaurant.  They  called 
it  their  wedding  breakfast,  for,  after  all,  she  wore  a  ring 
on  her  second  finger,  a  ring  that  Heffler  himself  had 
worn  until  that  morning. 

"I'll  look  after  your  sister,"  he  said  as  they  hurried 
to  the  train. 

"And  you'll  come  on  soon,  Joe?" 

"Soon's  I  can,  sure  thing." 

With  new  strength  he  brushed  aside  the  brakeman, 
to  help  her  up  the  steps.  She  nodded  a  good-by  to  him 
from  the  platform.  She  wished  to  wave,  but  she  could 
not,  because  she  had  a  bag  in  one  hand,  while  the  other 
arm  was  tightly  bound  about  the  tilting  water  pitcher. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THH  COLONEL  REASONS  WITH  MR.  TUBE 

WHEN  the  woman  who  did  the  Colonel's  washing 
and  mending  came  in  at  his  back  door  that 
Friday  afternoon,  she  stopped  suddenly  on  the 
threshold.  Her  lower  jaw  dropped  until  her  false  teeth 
slipped,  and  she  was  forced  to  close  her  mouth  quickly  to 
avoid  disaster.  Her  eyes  bulged  in  a  frightened  stare  and 
the  bundle  of  mending  dropped  from  her  hand.  There, 
in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  was  the  Colonel,  dressed 
in  flannel  shirt,  with  sleeves  half  rolled  up,  and  worn 
buckskins.  On  his  feet  were  the  decorated  moccasins 
that  usually  hung  over  the  fireplace.  About  his  waist 
was  a  cartridge  belt  and  on  his  head  a  torn  sombrero. 
His  glasses  were  off  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  have  a  crazy 
brightness  in  them.  His  hands  flourished  two  rusty 
cavalry  revolvers,  and  he  was  swaying  back  and  forth  on 
his  rheumatic  legs,  muttering  a  strange  gibberish  of  words. 
When  the  bundle  dropped  the  Colonel  stopped  and,  see- 
ing her,  he  chuckled  and  looked  embarrassed. 

"It's  all  right,  Mary,"  he  said.  "Jest  havin'  mem- 
ories.    Whatche  got  in  yer  pack?" 

"Mending"  said  Mary,  and  then,  like  a  boy  who  limps 
when  he  has  a  toothache,  she  tiptoed  over  to  the  table 
and  laid  the  bundle  down,  never  once  taking  her  eyes 
from  the  Colonel. 

342 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  343 

The  veteran  watched  her,  partly  amused  and  partly 
bothered  at  her  discovery. 

"Wore  some  o'  these  togs  fer  years,  Mary,"  he  said  in 
a  sort  of  shamefaced  explanation. 

'*Ye  did,  sir,"  said  Mary,  curiosity  gradually  overcom- 
ing her  fear,  "and  the  pistols,  too,  sir?" 

"We  et  with  'em  out  there,"  said  the  Colonel  solenmly. 

"Holy  Virgin,"  said  Mary,  crossing  herself.  "And  the 
hoochee-koochee  dance,  too?"  she  inquired  doubtfully 
after  a  moment. 

"Regular,"  said  the  Colonel  without  a  smile,  "after 
meals." 

"It  must  be  a  turrible  place,"  said  Mary,  shaking  her 
head  and  starting  for  the  door. 

"Ye'd  better  not  speak  of  it,  Mary.  Folks  wouldn't 
savvey,"  said  the  Colonel  as  he  followed  her. 

"Indade  and  I  won't.  Oi  like  ye  too  well  fer  that. 
But  it  must  be  a  turrible  place,"  and  Mary  departed, 
still  shaking  her  head.  And  that  night  she  wrote  a  long 
letter  of  solemn  warning  against  the  ways  of  the  West, 
to  her  brother,  who  had  recently  gone  to  Buffalo. 

The  Colonel  had  not  felt  so  much  at  home  in  years  as 
he  did  that  afternoon.  He  hummed  old  songs  in  growling 
monotone.  He  drew  forth  an  old  leather  trunk,  bound 
with  heavy  metal,  that  had  come  down  the  Missouri 
years  before.  He  remembered  how  he  and  his  pardner 
had  stood  on  the  dock  and  argued  as  to  whether  or  not 
they  would  take  that  particular  boat,  and  how  finally 
they  had  thrown  up  a  coin  to  decide  it.  The  coin  had 
turned  against  their  going  aboard,  but  they  had  been 
too  late  to  get  this  trunk  off  the  boat.    The  boat  had 


844  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

gone  down  with  all  on  board,  some  days  later.  The 
trunk  had  been  thrown  up  on  the  river  bank,  and,  about 
a  year  afterwards,  he  had  bought  it  back  for  about  five 
times  its  worth.  There  was  nothing  in  it  now  but  some 
soiled  and  yellow  papers  and  a  few  trinkets,  but  to  him 
it  stood  for  nearly  twenty  years  of  hardship  and  adven- 
ture. The  old  trunk  was  perhaps  the  last  possession  he 
had  that  he  would  have  parted  with. 

Next,  he  gathered  up  the  four  corners  of  a  faded  table 
cover,  jumbling  together  in  a  heap  all  the  decorations 
and  dust  that  had  been  Uttered  upon  it,  and  carried  the 
improvised  bundle  into  an  adjoining  room.  Then  he 
returned  and  pulled  the  table  nearer  the  wall  by  the 
fireplace.  Ransacking  one  of  the  drawers,  he  brought 
forth  a  worn  pack  of  cards,  and  spent  half  an  hour  doing 
old  tricks  with  them  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  in  the 
lapse  of  years.  At  last  he  rose  and  went  out  into  the 
kitchen  to  prepare  supper.  The  Colonel  preferred 
"gettin'  his  own  grub"  to  having  any  "women  folks" 
aroimd  the  house.  When  he  tired  of  his  own  cooking 
he  tramped  down  to  the  Hampstead  House,  and  grumbled 
at  its  well-served  dinners. 

The  bell  rang  three  or  four  times  irritatingly,  and  the 
Colonel,  forgetting  his  appearance  in  the  excitement  of 
trying  to  broil  a  steak  and  to  answer  a  doorbell  at  the 
same  time,  hobbled,  muttering,  to  the  door.  The  won- 
derment on  Billy  McNish's  face  changed  quickly  to  un- 
controlled laughter,  and  the  Colonel,  suddenly  conscious 
of  the  spectacle  he  was  to  anyone  passing  by,  caught 
Billy's  shoulder,  and  fairly  dragged  the  prospective  mayor 
of  Hampstead  into  the  vestibule.    This  done  and  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  345 

door  closed,  he  turned  his  back  on  Billy  with  pretended 
anger  and  returned  to  the  kitchen.  Billy  followed  con- 
tritely and  seated  himself  upon  the  wood-box. 

"Couldn't  help  it,  Colonel,''  he  remarked.  "You  look 
like  a  masquerade  ball." 

The  veteran  chuckled  over  the  sizzling  steak. 

"Reckon  I  might  create  a  sensation  ef  I  went  down- 
town this  way.  But  it  might  be  named  '  disturbin'  the 
peace '  ef  some  p'Hceman  come  out  of  a  s'loon  by  accident 
an'  saw  me.  Reckon  I'd  try  it  ef  it  wasn't  fer  the  women 
folks.  I'd  likely  git  kissed  a  dozen  times  on  the  way  to 
the  post-office.  Curious  'bout  the  way  women  hitch  onto 
freaks,  ain't  it?  Most  of  'em  '11  pass  a  good  square  man 
whose  head  is  stuck  on  straight,  an'  tie  up  in  bunches 
'round  some  sword-swallowin'  hero,  er  a  long-haired,  long- 
eared  poet,  er  a  collidge  prifesser  thet  lectures  on  *Are 
We  Atoms  er  Atomizers?'  an'  gives  it  up.  'S'pose  it's  a 
kind  o'  prifessional  bond  o'  union.  Most  women  hev 
got  a  streak  of  the  bunco  steerer  in  'em,  an'  they  jest 
natch'rally  join  up  with  those  thet  're  workin'  the  same 
thing  as  a  trade." 

Billy  changed  the  subject.  He  was  in  no  mood  for 
discourses  on  the  Colonel's  favorite  topic. 

"Can  you  come  up  to  the  house  to-morrow  morning 
about  ten?"  he  asked. 

"Reckon  so,"  responded  the  Colonel  with  a  half  wink, 
"ef  I  survive  the  evenin's  performance."  He  gazed 
down  at  his  buckskins  and  waited  for  Billy  to  become 
inquisitive.     He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"What  performance?"  Billy  scrutinized  the  strange 
clothes  again,  and  once  more  he  laughed.     "What's  the 


346  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

game,  Colonel?  Who 're  you  going  to  impress  with 
those?" 

Colonel  Mead  transferred  the  steak  to  a  waiting  platter. 
When  this  operation  had  been  accomplished  he  turned 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  eyed  the  younger  man. 

"One  Mister  Tubb  is  comin'  up  this  trail  to-night/' 
he  chuckled.  "  I've  tried  ev'ry  kind  o'  Eastern  reasonin' 
with  him.  I've  told  him  how  good  he  wuz  an'  how 
wicked  he  wuz.  I've  showed  him  how  dead  right  he 
wuz  an'  how  plumb  wrong  he  wuz.  I've  argyed  with 
him  till  my  tongue's  black  and  blue.  I've  patted  him 
on  the  back  till  my  left  hand's  blistered.  An'  I've  shook 
hands  with  him  till  my  right  hand  smells  o'  greens  an' 
onions  continuous.  Now  I'm  goin'  to  follow  your  lead 
an'  reason  with  him  Western.  He  may  buck,  but  I 
reckon  I'll  keep  my  promise.  I  told  him  I  thought  he'd 
hev  an  int'restin'  evenin'." 

The  Colonel  chuckled  again  prophetically.  Billy  shook 
with  noiseless  laughter. 

"Jove!"  he  cried.  "Wish  I  could  be  here  and  see  the 
fun.    But  I  can't.    Got  to  be  down-town  all  evening." 

"May  want  ye  in  the  p'lice  court  in  the  mornin'," 
said  the  Colonel,  leading  the  way  with  the  steak  into  the 
dining-room — Billy  following  along  cheerfully,  a  dish  in 
each  hand.  "Better  wash  up  an'  hev  a  bite  with  me, 
now  ye're  here.  Mebbe  ye  won't  never  hev  another 
chance,"  the  Colonel  added  with  jocular  moumfulness. 
"I'm  a  des'prite  man." 

Billy  was  voluble  with  regrets.  He  had  dropped  in 
merely  to  tell  the  Colonel  about  the  next  morning.  He 
had  already  stayed  longer  than  he  had  intended  to. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  347 

The  Colonel  was  a  hard  man  to  get  away  from,  Billy 
said,  and  he  thought  he  had  better  hurry  along  immedi- 
ately, or  he  would  actually  yield  to  temptation  and  stay. 

The  veteran  did  not  go  to  the  door  with  him.  He  sat 
down  at  the  table  and  began  his  solitary  meal  before 
Billy  finished  his  explanations.  When  he  heard  the 
front  door  close  he  shook  his  head. 

"Curious  'bout  Billy,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "He'd 
be  real  tol'rable  ef  he  didn't  hev  them  soft  turns.  He's 
so  infernal  nice  t'ev'rybody  thet  ye  hev  to  throw  up  a 
cent  to  make  up  yer  mind  whether  ye're  his  best  friend  or 
his  worst  enemy." 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  half-past  seven  when  Mr. 
Tubb  was  received  in  the  vestibule,  which  the  Colonel 
had  maliciously  left  dark.  It  was  not  until  they  entered 
the  sitting-room  together,  therefore,  that  the  grocer 
stopped  short  in  his  greeting  and  stared  uneasily  at  the 
metamorphosed  Colonel. 

"'Declare!"  he  ejaculated,  rubbing  his  thin  chin  with 
his  thumb  and  first  finger.  He  had  even  forgotten  the 
clothes  he  wore.  Mr.  Tubb's  lank  figure  was  attired  in 
the  clothes  which  usually  appeared  only  once  a  week  in 
his  pew  at  the  Baptist  church.  Mr.  Tubb  liked  to 
remark  that  he  was  fifty  or  more  years  young.  On  Sun- 
days and  on  special  occasions  he  proved  the  assertion 
by  his  clothes;  clothes  with  broad,  padded  shoulders  and 
slender  waist;  clothes  that  pulled  tightly  over  the  per- 
ceptible bend  in  his  back  and  wrinkled  across  his  narrow 
chest;  ready-made  clothes,  of  course,  for  Mr.  Tubb  did 
not  believe  in  wasting  his  hard-earned  and  carefully 
saved  money  in  tailors'  bills.     He  looked  uncomfortable 


348  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

and  he  felt  uncomfortable,  but  he  considered  that  this 
was  one  of  the  ways  by  which  mankind,  on  one  day  of 
the  week,  do  penance  for  their  sins  of  the  other  six  days. 
When  it  is  said,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Tubb  had  forgotten 
his  clothes  as  he  stared  at  the  Colonel,  no  better  descrip- 
tion of  his  complete  astonishment  is  possible. 

"Told  ye  I'd  show  ye  somethin'  Western,''  chuckled 
the  Colonel. 

"Where'd  ye  get  'em?"  asked  Mr.  Tubb  slowly. 

"Well,  the  shirt  I  bought  in  Albuquerque,"  said  the 
Colonel  reminiscently,  motioning  the  grocer  to  a  chair, 
"an'  the  buckskins  I  took  off'n  Tony  Mclntire,  the  des- 
perado, after  said  Tony  had  been  scalped  by  Injuns  near 
Las  Vegas.  The  moccasins  b'longed  to  a  Nez  Percy 
buck  'fore  he  died  a  vi'lent  death  by  one  o'  these  here 
pistols.  I  jest  natch'rally  found  the  sombrero  in  the 
trail  one  day." 

"'Declare!"  repeated  Mr.  Tubb,  eyeing  the  Colonel 
with  a  mixture  of  doubt  and  admiration.  Mr.  Tubb  had 
always  agreed  readily  with  those  doubting  Thomases  of 
Hampstead,  who  declared  that  Colonel  Mead  had  never 
been  farther  west  than  Chicago  in  his  life;  who  observed 
that  Colonel  Mead's  speech  was  more  that  of  a  New 
Englander  than  that  of  a  Westerner — which  was  natural 
enough  if  they  had  remembered  that  the  Colonel  had 
lived  more  than  half  of  his  life  in  Connecticut;  and  who 
said  that  they  had  heard  that  Colonel  Mead  had  bought 
all  of  his  curios  at  a  side-street  store  in  New  York.  But, 
with  the  Colonel  before  him  and  with  one  of  the  Colonel's 
hands  resting  lightly  on  the  butt  of  a  pistol,  Mr.  Tubb 
would  have  admitted  that  Buffalo  Bill  was  a  Westerner 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  349 

of  comparatively  little  distinction.  Mr.  Tubb  glanced 
about  the  dimly  lighted  room,  and  wished  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  that  the  pistols  might  be  put  away 
in  some  far-off  bureau  drawer.  Mr.  Tubb  had  a  revolver 
at  home,  which  he  kept  behind  locked  doors  at  night 
for  use  in  case  of  burglars.  But  he  never  had  fired  it, 
and  indeed  he  never  had  touched  the  trigger  when  the 
thing  was  loaded.  When  he  moved  it  he  always  gripped 
the  last  inch  of  the  butt  and  shut  his  eyes. 

"I  can't  stay  very  long,"  he  said,  his  thumbs  and  fore- 
finger busy  now  with  his  sallow  neck.  "Got  a  date  with 
Captain  Merrivale  at  nine-thirty."  Mr.  Tubb  realized 
immediately  that  this  admission  was  a  mistake,  and  he 
hurried  on.  "I  got  a  good  joke  on  Captain  Merrivale 
the  other  day,"  he  continued.  "You  know  old  Doctor 
Ferguson  that  died  last  week?  Well,  I  was  talkin'  to 
Merrivale  next  day  after  the  Doc.  died,  and  Merrivale 
he  allowed  that  Ferguson  was  a  good  man  and  that  he 
was  mighty  surprised  to  learn  that  the  old  feller  had 
nigger  blood  in  him.  'Nigger  blood?'  says  I.  'Can't 
be,'  says  I.  He  picks  up  the  News,  sober  as  a  jedge, 
and  hands  it  over  to  me.  '  Read  that,'  he  says.  *  Don't 
it  say,  clear  as  print  can  make  it,  that  the  old  Doctor 
was  an  octogenarian?'  'Course  I  allowed  that  it  did, 
and  I  tried  not  to  laugh  'cause  it  might  've  hurt  his  feel- 
in's.  He's  sensitive,  Merrivale  is.  But  it  was  the  best 
joke  on  Merrivale  I've  heard  in  a  month  o'  Sundays." 

Mr.  Tubb  tittered  in  high  falsetto.  The  Colonel  only 
grunted. 

"An'  thet's  Hampstead's  head  Water  Commiss'ner,"  he 
grumbled  as  he  arose  and  went  across  to  the  old  trunk. 


350  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Ef  y'ain't  goin'  to  patronize  my  diggin's  only  till 
nine-thirty,"  he  said  briskly,  "we'll  proceed  instanter." 

The  grocer  was  always  ready  to  agree  to  anything, 
and  never  more  so  than  now.  The  Colonel  squatted 
beside  the  open  trunk,  and  drew  from  it  various  objects, 
from  a  handful  of  broken  arrows  to  a  small  string  of 
beads.  It  was  not  very  long  before  Mr.  Tubb  had  for- 
gotten his  imeasiness  and  was  bending  forward,  his 
mouth  wide  open  with  interest.  Each  new  memento 
which  the  Colonel  handed  him  had  its  story,  and  the 
Colonel,  who  had  not  rummaged  through  the  old  trunk 
before  in  years,  became  so  interested  himself  that  he 
lost  track  of  the  time,  and  forgot  that  there  was  any 
such  concern  as  Hardy  &  Son  or  any  such  undecided, 
imreasonable  person  as  this  Mr.  Tubb,  who  listened  and 
who,  now  and  then,  had  the  temerity  to  interrupt  the 
flow  of  reminiscence.  The  little  clock  on  the  mantel, 
striking  nine,  brought  the  Colonel  at  last  to  his  senses. 
He  had  less  than  a  half-hour  left  in  which  to  reason  with 
Mr.  Tubb. 

"Talked  so  much  my  jaw  aches,"  he  remarked,  break- 
ing off  in  the  middle  of  a  long  yarn.  "Reckon  y'are 
plumb  petered  out.  What  d'ye  say  to  a  little  two- 
handed  poker  fer  a  change?" 

Mr.  Tubb  hitched  backward  in  his  chair  and  looked 
across  at  the  little  table  and  the  cards.  He  had  noticed 
them  when  he  entered  the  room. 

"Well,  ye  see,"  he  said  with  apparent  hesitation,  "I 
don't  play  poker." 

"Ye  don't?"  Surprise  and  scorn  were  in  the  Colonel's 
tone.     "Why,  I  wouldn't  'a'  thought  thar  wuz  a  man 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  351 

under  the   flag  thet   didn't   know  the  nash'nal   game. 
What  '11  we  tackle?    Old  Maid?'' 

"I  mean  to  say,"  added  Mr.Tubb  lamely, ''not  usually." 

The  Colonel  for  answer  took  a  chair  by  the  table  and 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  chair  opposite,  next  to  the 
wall.     Mr.  Tubb  arose  doubtfully. 

"I  mean  I  ain't  used  to  playin'  for  money.  I'm  a 
church  member,  ye  know,"  he  remarked,  as  if  in  self- 
defense,  as  he  sat  down. 

"Ye  don't  say?"  said  the  Colonel,  putting  down  the 
cards  he  had  been  shuffling.  "Well,  I  reckon  I  kin  find 
some  chips  ef  I  dig  deep  enough."  He  started  to  rise 
laboriously.     Mr.  Tubb  picked  up  the  cards. 

"At  least  not  for  high  stakes,"  he  added. 

"How  about  penny  ante?"  suggested  the  Colonel, 
sinking  back  in  his  chair. 

"At  least  not  for  more'n  a  quarter,"  added  Mr.  Tubb 
again,  patting  the  cards  affectionately.  The  Colonel 
smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  Mr.  Tubb  put  down  the 
cards  and  turned  cautiously  toward  the  wall  behind  him. 

"Pretty  picture,"  he  said  apologetically. 

The  Colonel  nodded  grimly.  "  Better'n  a  mirror,  ain't 
it?" 

Mr.  Tubb  proceeded  to  look  through  the  cards  care- 
fully. 

"Interestin'  cards,"  he  remarked. 

The  Colonel  nodded  again. 

"Got  'em  from  thet  forchune  teller  down  New  Orleens, 
the  same  one  I  told  ye  'bout;  Fairy  Ellen  they  called 
her.  Didn't  tell  ye  'bout  how  she  told  Leftenant  Wood's 
forchune,  did  I?" 


352  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Mr.  Tubb,  engaged  in  dealing,  said  that  he  did  not 
remember  the  story.    The  Colonel  scrutinized  his  cards. 

''Four/'  he  said  laconically.  "You  see,  I'd  know'd 
Fairy  Ellen  fer  years,"  he  went  on.  "Run  acrost  her 
first  in  San  Antonio,  and  later  I'd  found  her  in  New 
Orleens.  So,  when  we  landed  thar  fer  a  day  one  Spring, 
and  I'd  put  Bill  Slosson  and  young  Lef tenant  Wood  onto 
all  the  trails  in  town,  an'  we  wuz  a-goin'  back  to  the  boat, 
I  happened  to  remember  thet  I'd  plumb  fergot  Fairy 
Ellen.  We  hed  jest  about  time  an',  bein'  the  lead  mule, 
I  steered  'em  down  into  the  picayune  back  alley  whar 
she  did  business.  It  wuz  a  dirty  cabin,  and  she  wuz 
an  old  greaser  woman  with  a  complexion  like  a  moldy 
cheese  and  a  figger  like  a  question  mark.  I  never  be- 
lieved in  forchune  tellin'  till  I  saw  her  in  San  Antonio, 
but  she  cert'nly  marked  out  my  trail  fer  me,  even  to  the 
bonanza  I  struck  in  Colorado." 

"  Wish  she  was  here,"  put  in  Mr.  Tubb,  with  a  rueful 
attempt  to  be  jocular  as  the  Colonel  drew  in  a  little  pile 
of  silver.  "P'raps  she'd  tell  me  what  you're  goin'  to 
hold  next  hand." 

"Well,  as  I  wuz  recallin',"  went  on  the  Colonel,  deal- 
ing, "  I  took  the  boys  'round  thar,  and  she  took  our  dol- 
lars an'  mumbled  a  lot  o'  pigeon  Spanish.  She  assayed 
Slosson's  hand  all  right  an'  told  him  a  lot  o'  things  he 
didn't  want  to  know,  includin'  the  fact  that  he  would 
be  killed  finally  by  dark-faced  furriners.  I've  been 
waitin'  fer  years  a-watchin'  Slosson,  an'  when  he  wuz 
ordered  to  the  Phillipians  I  said  it  wuz  all  over.  An'  it 
wuz.  He  wuz  shot  in  the  first  fight  he  got  into.  When 
she  come  to  the  Lef  tenant " 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  353 


Mr.  Tubb  threw  down  his  cards  with  obvious  irritation. 

"Can't  you  hold  anythin'  at  all  but  three  of  a  kind?" 
he  asked  peevishly. 

"Yes/'  returned  the  Colonel  complacently.  "Reckon  I 
kin  hold  my  temper  an'  my  payshunts,  friend,  winnin'  er 
losin'.  But — goin'  on  with  the  story,  which  don't  seem 
to  int'rest  you  none — when  she  come  to  the  Leftenant  she 
looked  fer  a  minute;  then  she  shook  her  head.  She  jest 
wouldn't  tell  his,  and  after  we'd  argued  and  threatened 
and  got  mad  and  left,  she  stood  thar  and  watched  us 
down  the  street.  The  other  two  wuz  laughin',  but  I 
thought  I  smelled  somethin'  int'restin',  and  I  told  'em 
thet  I'd  left  somethin',  I've  fergotten  now  what,  and  I 
sneaked  back.  She  wuz  standin'  right  whar  we'd  left 
her  and " 

The  Colonel  stopped  short  and  leaned  forward,  his 
body  suddenly  tense.  Mr.  Tubb  finished  dealing  and 
eyed  his  hand  with  unusual  care. 

"Well?"  he  asked  nervously,  without  looking  up. 
"What — what  happened  then?" 

The  Colonel  settled  back  in  his  chair.  He  did  not 
look  at  his  cards. 

"Reckon  I'm  out  o'  this  hand,"  he  remarked,  his  eyes 
still  narrowed  in  scrutiny  of  the  grocer's  flushed  face. 
"Let's  see,"  he  went  on,  "I'd  just  gone  back  to  Fairy 
Ellen.  Well,  I  says  to  her:  'Why  didn't  ye  tell  his 
forchune.  Fairy?'  says  I.  'Because,'  says  she,  and  her 
voice  sounded  like  a  cowboy's  the  mornin'  after  a  spree, 
hard  and  tired  like,  'he  ain't  got  half  an  hour  to  live.' 
I  didn't  ejaculate  a  word.  I  jest  worked  my  legs  fer 
the  dock.    I  got  thar  jest  as  Slosson  an'  the  Leftenant 


354  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


was  crossin'  the  gang-plank.     'Leftenant/  I  called  out 
like  a  fool,  and  he  stopped  an'  Slosson  went  on." 

The  Colonel  paused  to  raise  Mr.  Tubb  beyond  the 
limit  of  the  grocer's  cautious  willingness  to  take  risks, 
and  immediately  drew  in  a  considerable  "pot,"  with  a 
hand  composed  chiefly  of  two  jacks. 

"Then,  all  of  a  sudden,"  he  went  on  mechanically,  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  "a  spar  got  loose  up  above  an' 
I  saw  it  fall,  an'  the  young  feller  never  know'd  what  hit 
him.  Old  Fairy  Ellen  wuz  right.  The  minute  she  told 
me,  I'd  know'd  thar  wuzn't  any  more  chance  fer  him 
then  thar  is  fer  a  man  ridin'  a  buckin'  bronco  up  Marshall 
Pass." 

"Good  story,"  said  Mr.  Tubb,  his  mind  on  the  game 
and  far  away  from  Fairy  Ellen  of  New  Orleans. 

It  was  astonishing  to  see  how  interested  Mr.  Tubb  had 
become  in  the  turn  of  the  cards,  and  how  grudgingly  he 
brought  forth  from  his  trousers  pocket  at  last — when 
his  silver  was  exhausted — the  green  roll  of  bills,  and  how 
his  thin,  sallow  cheeks  flushed  and  how  his  eyes  grew 
feverishly  bright,  and  how  strained  and  tense  the  silence 
seemed  when  the  Colonel's  story  was  finished — silence 
broken  only  by  the  steady  slap  of  the  cards,  the  jingle 
of  silver  and  an  occasional  grunt  of  joy  or  despair  from 
the  ecstatic  or  suffering  grocer.  The  Colonel  seemed  to 
be  playing  carelessly  while  he  was  talking,  and  even  in 
the  silence  he  seemed  to  watch  Mr.  Tubb  more  closely 
than  the  cards.  But  he  won  almost  steadily,  and  the 
meager  assortment  of  silver  which  he  had  deposited  at 
his  left  hand  grew  rapidly  with  the  additions  of  Mr. 
Tubb's  quarters  and  half  dollars  and  bank  notes. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  355 

"Reckon  I'm  hevin'  the  luck/'  he  remarked  genially, 
as  the  half  hour  was  struck  by  the  little  clock  on  the 
mantel.     Mr.  Tubb  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  clock. 

''Three/'  he  said,  staring,  fascinated,  at  the  cards. 

"But  it's  a  long  lane  without  any  turnin',"  added  the 
Colonel.  Again  the  Colonel  won  and  Mr.  Tubb  mut- 
tered a  single  word  in  comment. 

"Fer  a  Baptist,"  remarked  the  Colonel  reflectively,  as 
Mr.  Tubb  dealt  the  cards,  "thet  might  be  considered 
'strong  langwidge.'  Two,"  he  added,  looking  over  his 
hand. 

Mr.  Tubb  slapped  the  Colonel's  two  cards  on  the  table 
with  angry  force.  Then  he  shifted  the  cards  nervously 
in  his  hand. 

"I'll  take  four,"  he  said.  He  added  four  cards  to  his 
remaining  one.  Then  he  looked  up  and  into  the  mouths 
of  two  cavalry  pistols. 

Mr.  Tubb  jumped  back  so  suddenly  that  he  nearly 
upset  both  the  table  and  himself.  He  thought  he  shouted 
'Murder! '  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  merely  whispered  the  word.  The  pack  of  cards 
dropped  from  his  shaking  hand  and  built  scattering 
pyramids  of  themselves  upon  the  floor.  His  face  lost 
even  its  sallow  color  and  he  swallowed  noisily. 

"Let's  see  them  cards,"  growled  the  Colonel. 

Mr.  Tubb  hastened  to  obey.     The  four  cards  were  aces. 

"Ye  took  'em  from  the  bottom  of  the  pack.  Ye've 
done  it  twice  afore,  only  I  wuzn't  plumb  certain  'bout 
it  afore." 

The  Colonel  lowered  the  pistols  to  the  table. 

"Ye're  a  sweet  and  lovely  church  member,  ain't  ye?" 


356  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  went  on,  looking  aggressively  at  Mr.  Tubb,  whose 
thumb  and  forefinger  had  returned  nervously  to  his 
chin.  "  Lord,  won't  this  make  talk  fer  the  good  Christian 
women  folks  thet  trades  at  yer  store!  Lord,  won't  they 
fight  to  see  which  one  can  tell  it  first  an'  which  one  can 
tell  it  worst!  An',  Lord,  won't  yer  friend  Butterson's 
store  look  like  a  tornado'd  struck  it,  after  they've  sent 
him  all  yer  orders!" 

"Ye  wouldn't  tell  'em,"  gasped  Mr.  Tubb. 

"Seems  like  a  powerful  pity,  don't  it?"  said  the  Colonel 
soberly.  "  But  it  sure  looks  to  me  like  it  wuz  my  public 
duty.  A  man  thet  '11  cheat  at  cards  '11  cheat  at  groceries. 
Lord,  I  wonder  what  the  Baptist  church  '11  do!" 

"If  'twasn't  for  the  pistols,"  blustered  Mr.  Tubb, 
anger  momentarily  getting  the  better  of  his  fear,  "I'd 
knock  you  down." 

The  Colonel  grinned  benevolently. 

"I've  lived  years  enough  in  this  wicked  but  cowardly 
world,  m'  friend,"  he  remarked,  "to  know  thet  a  man 
thet  talks  'bout  them  thet  he's  knocked  down  er  is  goin' 
to  knock  down,  never  has  an'  never  will.  Thar's  most 
alluz  an  *  if  m  the  way." 

"I  thought  I  was  playin'  with  a  gentleman,"  stuttered 
Mr.  Tubb. 

"I  wuz  plumb  sure  I  wuzn't,"  retorted  the  Colonel. 
"So  we  wuz  both  right." 

"  But  it  '11  ruin  me,"  sobbed  Mr.  Tubb,  giving  way  to 
nasal  moans. 

The  Colonel  pulled  at  his  mustaches,  his  hand  care- 
fully covering  his  mouth. 

"It  sure  do  look  that  way,"  he  remarked  judicially. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  357 

"But  don't  git  lackrimose  'bout  it.  P'raps  I  might  be 
reasoned  with." 

Mr.  Tubb  looked  up  with  a  sudden  hopefulness  that 
nearly  upset  the  Colonel. 

"What  do  ye  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Well,"  the  Colonel  continued.  "We  might  come  to 
a  compr'mise.  I've  been  wantin'  somethin'  o'  you  fer 
more'n  a  month,  an'  now  ye're  wantin'  somethin'  o'  me. 
I'll  tell  ye.  Ef  ye'll  ferget  to  see  Captain  Merrivale  to- 
night, an'  ef  ye'll  come  back  here  inside  o'  half  an  hour 
with  yer  Hardy  stock,  to  be  left  in  my  safe  keepin'  till 
I  think  it's  judicious  fer  ye  to  hev  it  again,  p'raps  I 
might  overcome  my  scruples  'bout  spreadin'  this  here 
incident.     What  d'ye  say?" 

Mr.  Tubb  looked  at  the  Colonel  through  narrowed 
eyes,  and  the  color  returned  slowly  to  his  face. 

"It  was  a  trick,"  he  declared  weakly. 

"Yes."  The  Colonel  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the 
four  aces.  "It  wuz  a  dirty,  low-down  trick  an'  ye  didn't 
even  do  it  clever." 

Mr.  Tubb  stumbled  to  his  feet  and  pulled  his  coat  down 
to  its  uncomfortably  proper  position.  He  realized  sadly 
that  he  could  never  wear  his  best  clothes  to  church  again 
with  a  devout,  religious  feeling. 

"All  right,"  he  said. 

"An'  this  here  money,"  continued  the  Colonel,  point- 
ing to  the  pile  that  had  accumulated  on  his  side  of  the 
table,  "I  calc'late  to  give  to  the  mish'nary  fimd  o'  the 
Baptist  church,  in  yer  name  an'  mine,  fer  the  good  o' 
the  heathen.  An'  I  want  to  give  ye  a  bit  of  advice.  Don't 
ever  try  that  trick  again.    It  ain't  easy  to  lose,  but  it's  a 


358  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

derned  sight  more  'Murrican  to  lose  like  a  man  than  to 
win  like  a  sneak.  Reckon  I've  kept  my  word/'  he 
added  as  they  nioved  toward  the  door.  "It's  been  an 
int'restin'  evenin'." 

When  Mr.  Tubb  had  gone  the  Colonel  snapped  the 
pistols  harmlessly  three  or  four  times,  and  smiled  to 
himself. 

"Reckon  he'll  come  back,"  he  muttered.  He  was 
right.  Mr.  Tubb  had  six  minutes  to  spare  when  he 
rang  the  Colonel's  doorbell  for  the  second  time  that 
night. 

The  veteran  threw  the  certificates  into  the  old  trunk 
and  sat  down  to  read  the  News.  Usually  he  spent  the 
better  part  of  the  evening  with  his  paper,  but  to-night 
he  had  almost  forgotten  it,  and  he  handled  it  now  with 
apologetic  eagerness,  as  if  it  were  a  friend  he  had  ignored. 
As  he  turned  a  flapping  page,  an  advertisement,  printed 
in  large  type,  caught  his  eye.  He  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion as  he  stared  at  it.  Then,  he  held  it  at  various  dis- 
tances, to  assure  himself  that  his  eyes  had  not  played  him 
a  trick.  It  announced  a  mass  meeting  for  men  at  the 
Hampstead  Opera  House  on  the  following,  Saturday, 
night.  It  stated  simply  that  Judge  Morrison  would  pre- 
side, and  that  the  speakers  would  be  Mr.  McNish,  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  mayor,  and  John  Gilbert,  general 
manager  of  Hardy  &  Son,  whose  respective  subjects 
would  be,  "  Why  Hampstead  Ought  to  Be  a  Democratic 
City"— and  "The  Strike  and  Politics."  In  the  news 
column  opposite  the  advertisement,  to  which  the  Colonel's 
eyes  wandered  in  their  amazement,  was  the  short  inter- 
view with  Gilbert,  all  in  capitals  and  double-leaded.    The 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


Colonel  dropped  the  paper  to  his  side,  and  brought  his 
right  fist  down  upon  the  rearranged  table,  with  a  force 
that  made  the  lamp-light  jump  and  flicker  weirdly. 

''Thet's  business/^  he  muttered.  "Reckon  he's  found 
out  more'n " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  violent  ringing  of  his  bell 
and  a  heavy  tattoo  of  knocks  upon  the  door.  He  hur- 
ried through  the  vestibule,  still  clutching  the  paper  in 
his  left  hand. 

"Jest  saw  it  in  the  News,"  he  declared  excitedly,  as 
Gilbert  and  Billy  followed  him  into  the  sitting-room. 

"They've  seen  it,  too,"  Billy  broke  in,  eager  to  tell 
the  news,  "and  they've  probably  heard  more.  They've 
got  a  gang  of  Dagoes  and  Polocks  tearing  up  Broad  Street 
already.     They'll  be  working  there  all  night." 

"We're  coming  to  the  finish  of  our  fight.  Colonel," 
Gilbert  remarked,  "and  we're  going  to  win.  How  about 
Tubb,  Colonel?" 

The  Colonel  grinned  reminiscently  as  they  drew  up 
chairs. 

"Well,"  he  said.  "I  separated  him  from  his  stock. 
It's  in  the  trunk  yander.  An'  we're  makin'  a  joint  con- 
tribution to  the  Baptist  Mish'nary  Society.  But  thar 
ain't  any  story,  boys.  Ye  see,  I  paid  him  fer  the  stock 
by  sayin'  I'd  keep  my  mouth  shet." 

Billy  frowned  at  the  mystery,  but  Gilbert  merely  eyed 
the  Colonel  with  narrowed,  smiling  eyes. 

"Mr.  McNish  wants  you  to  help  him  reason  with  two 
or  three  more  to-morrow  morning,"  he  drawled,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  until  it  creaked  warningly  under  his 
weight.     "That's  the  only  loop-hole  they've  got  now — 


360  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

to  get  control  before  to-morrow  night.  Ten  o'clock, 
wasn't  it,  Billy?" 

Billy  nodded. 

"No  rest  fer  the  wicked  an'  less  fer  the  pious,"  grum- 
bled the  Colonel.  "  But  what  hev  ye  found  out,  to  make 
ye  so  brash  about  this  meetin'?" 

Gilbert  allowed  the  chair  to  settle  back  and  sprawled, 
his  long  legs  sticking  out  straight,  his  hands  sunk  deep 
in  his  pockets. 

''We've  got  Neely's  signed  statement  of  that  bribing 
business." 

The  Colonel  whistled. 

"How'd  ye  do  it?"  he  asked  with  some  awe. 

"Peter  Lumpkin  did  most  of  it.  I  helped  some. 
Neely  seems  glad  to  get  it  off  his  mind.  It's  worried 
him.  He's  more  of  a  man  than  I  thought  he  was.  Jethro 
was  the  other  one,  of  course." 

"And  we've  the  signed  story  of  the  engineer  who  made 
the  false  report  on  the  reservoir  deal,"  put  in  Billy. 

"Lord!"  ejaculated  the  Colonel,  pulling  his  long  mus- 
taches in  open  wonderment.  "An'  I  didn't  know  any- 
thin'  about  it.     How'd  ye  do  thet?" 

"Joe  Heffler,  chiefly,"  said  Gilbert  slowly.  "He  knew 
him.  He  was  clerk  in  the  office  for  a  time,  you  know. 
Billy  helped  a  good  deal.  That's  what  we've  been  doing 
to-night." 

"And  we  know,"  added  Billy,  who  had  been  counting 
on  his  fingers,  "that  Conlin  and  Martin  Jethro  and  Tom 
Grady  were  all  at  Mr.  Hubbard's  to-night." 

"Say,"  grumbled  the  Colonel,  "did  ye  hev  anybody 
listenin'  to  me  an'  Tubb  to-night?    Reckon  I  ought  to've 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  361 

gone  'round  the  shack  careful  aforehand.  An'  who 
found  thet  out?" 

Gilbert  laughed  heartily. 

"Jimmy  O'Rourke  drove  them  there  in  a  hack,"  he 
said.  "Yes,  that's  a  fact.  Jimmy's  been  driving  hack 
three  or  four  nights  now,  ever  since  Conlin  got  suspicious 
about  walking  to  see  his  employers."  Gilbert  paused. 
"They're  a  pretty  good  crowd,  the  three  of  them — my 
'cabinet,'  as  Jimmy  calls  them,"  he  added.  "I  tell  you, 
it's  great  to  have  friends." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  made  both  the 
Colonel  and  Billy  stir  uneasily  and  look  away  self-con- 
sciously. 

"It  all  depends  on  to-morrow  night  now,"  Gilbert 
added  again.  "Think  of  it,  Colonel.  We  started  tilt- 
ing at  windmills,  but  we  were  honest  about  it.     And 

now "    His  teeth  shut  with  a  sudden  click.    Then  he 

smiled.  "Well,  I  feel  a  good  deal  Uke  that  soldier  your 
father  tells  about,  Billy,  who  was  always  repeating  just 
before  a  charge:  'We'll  show  'em  whether  there's  a  God 
in  Israel  or  not.'  We're  going  to  bring  about  a  new 
order  of  things  in  Hampstead.  Lord  knows,  the  town 
needs  it." 

" '  Course  we  are,"  cried  the  suddenly  optimistic  Colonel. 
"Didn't  I  say  so  all  the  time?" 

"I  don't  see  yet,"  objected  Billy  peevishly,  "how 
we're  going  to  change  public  opinion  in  one  night." 

Gilbert  started  to  answer  but  the  Colonel  interrupted 
him. 

"Ef  ye  cross  bridges  so  many  times  aforehand,"  he 
said  crossly,  "ye'll  sure  bust  'em  down  'fore  ye  really 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


come  to  'em.  But  look  here,  boy/'  he  went  on,  looking 
up  at  Gilbert,  who  had  stretched  himself  lazily  and  risen, 
and  who  now  stood  towering  above  him,  "sit  close 
to-morrow  an'  keep  yer  eye  peeled  constant.  I  ain't 
afeard  o'  threats  usually,  but  thet  hoss-thief  of  a  Jethro's 
sure  got  it  in  fer  ye,  and  th'other  crowd's  goin'  to  be 
desp'rite  now.     It's  life  an'  death  with  'em." 

Gilbert  smiled  down  into  the  Colonel's  grizzled  face 
and  then  grew  sober  as  he  saw  the  veteran's  earnestness. 

"I  believe  you've  caught  the  disease  from  Joe,"  he 
said.  "He  talks  the  same  way.  The  thing's  getting  on 
your  nerve,  Colonel." 

But  the  veteran  repeated  his  warning  as  he  followed 
the  two  younger  men  to  the  door,  and  when  he  returned 
to  the  sitting-room,  he  stared  at  the  little  clock  and 
shook  his  head  solemnly. 

"Wish  it  wuz  this  time  to-morrow  night,"  he  muttered. 

When  Gilbert,  coming  in  from  the  chilly  October  mist, 
climbed  the  steps  of  the  little  house  porch,  he  heard  the 
door  knob  before  him  rattle.  Someone  within  was  try- 
ing to  open  the  door,  but  the  glue-like  dampness  had 
gripped  the  wood  and  held  it  tightly  fastened.  He 
caught  the  knob  quickly  and  pushed  the  door,  crackling, 
wide  open.  Then  he  leaped  forward  and  picked  up  Clare 
Hardy, — who  had  been  tugging  at  the  knob, — from  her 
knees  where  she  had  fallen. 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

"It's  the  first  time  I  was  ever  on  my  knees  to  a  man." 

"And  the  last." 

"You  can't  tell  when  there  are  such  masterful  men," 
she  laughed  as  she  brushed  the  dust  from  her  dress. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


"You — you  were  just  going  home?"  he  remarked  in 
his  embarrassment. 

"  How  hospitable!  No,  I  was  just  going  to  stay.  I've 
been  waiting  for  you." 

" Oh,"  he  beamed  doubtfully.     "  Where's  mother?" 

"Upstairs — worrying  about  you.  Do  you  realize  that 
it's  nearly  midnight?" 

"I  believe  I  do."  He  was  leading  the  way  into  the 
little  parlor. 

"And  that  it's  improper  for  me  to  be  here?"  she  added 
with  a  glint  of  her  old  tantalizing  smile. 

"No,  I  don't  realize  that." 

"Well,  it  is,"  she  retorted  so  convincingly  that  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  greatly  to  blame.  He  made 
up  his  mind  immediately  that  propriety  was  the  most 
senseless,  unreasonable  thing  in  the  world. 

"And  I'm  going  home" — his  face  grew  tragic — "in  a 
few  minutes." 

They  both  smiled.  Then  her  face  slowly  became 
grave. 

"You  made  me  forget."  And  she  hurried  into  the 
narrow  hallway. 

"What  made  you  remember?"  he  called.  He  felt 
instantly  that  the  remark  was  the  height  of  idiocy.  She 
was  very  serious  as  she  came  back  with  some  papers. 

"You  told  me  yesterday  there  was  a  deal  of  some  kind 
that  was  dishonest,  something  about  that  street  railway 
bill.  Father  was  in  that,  and  spoke  of  it  the  night  it 
was  passed.  I  was  there  with  him,  you  know.  I've 
found  some  papers,  correspondence  and  copies  of  his 
letters.     I  want  you  to  take  them." 


364  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  held  the  papers  toward 
him. 

"You'd  trust  them  to  me?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 
He  was  thinking  rapidly,  trymg  to  understand. 

"You're  silly,"  she  said  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "Of 
course." 

"Thank  you,"  he  spoke  evenly.  "I — we  don't  need 
them.  I  know  all  about  it — enough,  that  is.  We'll 
elect  Billy  and  save  the  shops  for  your  father  as  well 
without  this — this  sacrifice  of  yours — as  we  could  if  I 
read  the  papers  and  used  them." 

She  looked  up  at  him  so  wonderingly,  so  pleadingly, 
and  she  came  so  near  to  him  that  he  felt  himself  tremble 
with  restraint. 

"But  I  want  you  to  read  them.  Jack." 

"It's  better  not,"  he  said  curtly,  feeling  himself  weak- 
ening.    "Was  there  anything  else  on  your  mind?" 

She  looked  away  from  him  for  a  moment  while  he,  for 
something  to  do,  fumbled  among  the  books  on  the  table. 
Then  she  turned  to  him  once  more,  firmly. 

"  No,  there  was  nothing  else.  I — I  thought  this  would 
help  you,  but  you're  probably  right.  No,  you  needn't 
come  with  me.    You're  tired,  and  it's  such  a  little  way." 

He  went,  nevertheless,  guiding  her  down  the  walk 
hidden  in  the  damp,  misty  darkness. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  speak  to-morrow  night?" 

"It's  hard  to  believe  it,  isn't  it?  Billy's  going  to  make 
the  real  speech.  I  wish  you  could  hear  him.  Old 
Demosthenes  will  be  jealous  in  his  grave." 

"And  you?" 

"I  believe  I'm  to  read  a  few  unpleasant  facts.     I'd 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  365 


have  stage  fright  if  I  tried  to  talk  from  memory.  I'd 
get  everything  hung  on  the  wrong  pegs/' 

He  could  not  see  the  tenderness  in  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  up  at  him. 

"It  will  be  hard  for  them,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 

"That's  the  woman  of  it,"  he  laughed  shortly.  "The 
under  dog." 

"  I  was  thinking  that  they'd  hate  you  for  it." 

"Probably,"  he  said.  "But  that  doesn't  count.  It's 
the  thing  that  counts,  not  me  nor  them  nor  any- 
body else." 

At  the  porch  he  hesitated,  as  if  there  was  something 
he  wished  to  say  and  could  not.  He  blundered  awk- 
wardly, and  thanked  her  three  separate  times,  and  said 
good-night  twice,  lingeringly.  "I'm  a  fool,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  walked  slowly  up  the  hill.  "  She  couldn't 
take  those  papers  to  Billy." 

On  his  own  porch  again,  he  waited  a  moment  before 
going  in,  staring  down  at  the  unnatural  glow  of  light  far 
away  at  the  left.  Men  were  working  under  torches  on 
Broad  Street,  working  frantically  at  the  eleventh  hour  to 
keep  the  trivial  promise  the  Street  Railway  Company 
had  made  to  Hampstead.  The  light  that  dribbled  through 
the  blinds  lit  up  the  irregular  features  of  his  massive 
face,  and  in  the  glimmer  the  face  was  haggard. 

"Lucky  Billy,"  he  whispered. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  THE   OLD    GARDEN 

MRS.  GILBERT,  bustling  about  her  little  kitchen 
after  the  breakfast  dishes  had  been  cleared 
away,  stopped  occasionally  and  listened  to  the 
heavy  tramp  of  feet  overhead.  At  last  she  could  endure 
it  no  longer  and,  washing  the  cake-batter  from  her  hands, 
she  toiled  her  way  upstairs. 

"  Oh,  you're  here,  are  you?  "  she  asked  innocently. 

Upon  a  table  in  the  little  bedroom  lay  pen  and  ink- 
well and  paper.  Two  or  three  scrawled  sheets  lay  on 
the  floor  and  Gilbert,  his  hair  tousled,  his  face  wrinkled 
into  a  frown,  stood  looking  out  of  the  window.  The 
room  was  gray  with  smoke,  and  the  cigar  in  his  fingers 
was  chewed  into  shreds.  He  turned  and  smiled  a  woe- 
begone smile  in  reply. 

"Is  it  all  done?"  she  asked,  as  if  she  really  thought  it 
was. 

"Done?"  Gilbert  stretched  out  his  long  arms  and 
yawned  cavernously.  "Tisn't  begun.  I  walk  up  and 
down  and  say  sentences  just  as  I  want  them,  and  I  sit 
down  in  front  of  a  piece  of  paper  and  I  can't  say  them 
that  way  at  all.  It  was  funny  at  first,  but  the  novelty's 
wearing  off." 

He  shook  himself  and  started  again  his  weary  pacing. 
Mrs.  Gilbert  stood  watching  him  thoughtfully.     Then, 

366 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  367 

after  first  going  over  to  the  window  and  opening  it  to 
let  the  cool  air  rush  in,  she  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"Now  you  say  it,  laddie,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  write  it." 

Gilbert  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  nodded  assent, 
and  a  second  later  the  speech  was  begun. 

"I  guess,"  he  drawled,  when  the  first  paragraph  was 
completed,  "the  trouble  was  that  I  had  to  keep  my  fists 
doubled  up  to  write  that  speech." 

"You  aren't  actually  going  to  say  that,  are  you?" 
asked  his  mother,  reading  a  sentence  aloud. 

"Of  course.     It's  the  truth." 

"But — I  wish  somehow  you  weren't  in  it  at  all,  this 

hating  and  calling  names  and  hurting  people "     She 

hesitated  a  moment.  Then  she  added  vigorously: 
"  Don't  mind  me.  Women  are  inconsistent  idiots.  They 
love  a  man  that  will  fight,  but  they  don't  want  a  man 
they  love  to  fight.     Go  on." 

The  weather  bureau  had  prophesied  rain  and  was 
probably  disappointed,  but  the  men  of  Hampstead, 
emerging  from  the  dingy,  cavernous  dampness  and 
lethargy  of  yesterday  into  the  crisp,  clear  air,  thanked 
God  on  their  faces  if  not  in  their  hearts.  It  was  the  kind 
of  a  day,  as  Gilshannon  remarked,  that  "made  everybody 
get  up  on  their  toes."  Gilshannon,  as  well  as  the  other 
men  on  their  way  to  work,  read  the  posters  announcing 
the  meeting  that  night.  He  also  listened  attentively  to 
remarks  made  by  those  who  stopped  and  examined  the 
broad  white  sheets,  on  which  the  ink  was  still  wet.  He 
noticed,  moreover,  that  at  eleven  o'clock  most  of  the 
posters  had  mysteriously  disappeared.  The  latter  fapt 
became  evident  to  him,  when,  in  answer  to  a  call  from 


368  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

one  of  his  friends,  he  went  to  the  vicinity  of  the  Hardy 
shops  as  rapidly  as  a  car  would  take  him. 

It  was  as  if  the  strikers  had  suddenly  been  let  loose 
by  iron  hands  which  had  held  them.  They  were  con- 
gregated in  swaying,  restless  groups  down  Railroad  Street 
and  aroimd  the  Hardy  corner.  The  windows  of  blocks 
and  tenements  on  either  side  were  filled  with  more  of 
them.  The  police  station  alone,  near  the  Main  Street 
corner,  was  somnolent  in  its  repose.  The  crowd  had 
stoned  two  automobiles  and  had  started  a  runaway. 
Mr.  McNish  had  been  followed  by  a  snarling,  cursing, 
hooting  pack,  and,  stopping  at  the  police  station,  had 
had  his  anger  increased  by  the  nonchalant  attitude  of 
the  captain  in  charge.  Others  had  had  the  same  expe- 
rience during  the  morning.  In  fact,  the  appearance  of 
anyone  who  had  any  connection,  in  the  minds  of  the 
men,  with  shop-owners  was  the  signal  for  organized 
abuse.  When  Gilshannon  arrived,  the  groups  about  the 
shops  were  enjoying  themselves  hurling  occasional  stones 
through  the  office  windows,  and  joking  with  the  leisurely 
"guardian  of  the  peace *'  who  occasionally  told  them  to 
move  on. 

"There,"  remarked  Gilshannon,  "we've  got  down  to 
the  genius  of  a  strike, '  an  infinite  capacity  for  breaking 
panes. ' " 

He  passed  from  group  to  group,  and  everywhere  he 
received  a  noisy  welcome.  He  hurried  up  stairways 
where  no  other  outsider  was  permitted  to  go.  He  passed 
pickets,  and  his  cynical  face  was  his  countersign.  He 
interrupted  an  important  meeting,  where  his  sudden 
appearance  stopped  Martin  Jethro,  whose  red  face  ap- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  369 

peared  occasionally  in  a  revolving  windmill  of  arms,  so 
abruptly  that  one  of  Jethro^s  arms  remained  outstretched 
some  seconds,  before  finishing  the  gesture  without  words. 

"Stop  swinging  Indian  clubs,"  said  Gilshannon.  The 
crowd  turned  around,  angry  at  the  interruption,  and  then 
laughed  aloud  when  they  saw  that  it  was  Gilshannon. 
They  all  liked  him,  and  if  the  News  printed  anything 
unfavorable  to  workingmen  they  were  certain  he  had  not 
written  it.  Whatever  they  liked  in  the  paper  they  were 
sure  came  from  his  pen. 

A  few  moments  later  he  was  the  center  of  a  large 
crowd  in  the  street,  where  he  started  a  discussion  to 
which  he  listened  until  he  caught  sight  of  Tom  Grady 
talking  excitedly  to  three  or  four  men  under  a  store  awn- 
ing. He  drifted  over  to  them,  told  them  a  good  story 
and  asked  no  questions.  They  therefore  told  him  a 
good  many  interesting  things,  and  Gilshannon  yawned 
and  remarked  that,  "seeing  there  was  nothing  doing,  he 
guessed  he'd  go  back  to  the  office,"  and  loafed  down  the 
street,  hands  in  pockets  and  whistling  loudly.  At  the 
first  store  around  the  corner  a  large  blue  bell  suggested 
a  telephone;  and  he  went  in;  matched  a  dime  against  a 
nickel  with  the  clerk  to  see  who  should  pay  for  the  mes- 
sage; won;  and  closed  the  door  of  the  little  booth  behind 
him.     Gilbert  answered  the  call. 

"No,  I  want  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Gilbert." 

"Isn't  that  you,  Gil?" 

"I'm  McCarty,  the  iceman,  and  I  want  to  talk  to- " 

"All  right." 

He  told  Mrs.  Gilbert  that  he  wanted  her  to  keep  "the 
young  man"  indoors  to-day,  at  least  not  to  let  him  come 


370  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

down  to  the  shop;  that  there  was  no  trouble  of  any 
kind  and  wouldn't  be;  that  it  was  merely  a  question  of 
policy,  and  that  he  was  certain  that  she  alone  could 
keep  "the  young  man"  at  home.  Then  he  asked  for 
Gilbert  and  explained  to  him  the  situation. 

"As  far  as  I  can  tell  Conlin  turned  them  loose  this 
morning.  He  issued  a  statement  to  them  not  to  use 
violence,  but  he  told  Jethro  and  Grady  and  the  rest  to 
go  as  far  as  they  liked  without  burning  up  the  shops. 
There  are  perhaps  three  hundred  of  'em  lined  up  around 
the  shops,  but  there  aren't  fifty  of  'em  that  have  their 
fighting  blood  up.  They  just  josh  people  who  go  by, 
and  make  folks  in  automobiles  duck,  and  break  window 
glass.  Jethro  and  the  others  have  been  letting  off  their 
fireworks  all  morning,  but  they  don't  enthuse  a  bit. 
But  they've  got  it  in  for  you,  and  if  you  turned  up  down 
here  you'd  be  a  red  rag  and  they'd  all  get  their  heads 
done  " — ''  Yes,  I  knew  you'd  be  like  that.  That's  why  I 
told  your  mother  to  tie  a  hard  knot  in  her  apron  strings" 
— "All  right,  call  me  another.     I  like  it." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  called  up  the  police  sta- 
tion.   The  chief  himself  answered : 

"  Did  you  know  that  for  two  hours  a  bunch  of  strikers 
have  been  relieving  their  feelings  at  the  public  expense 
on  your  street?"— "All  right.  Just  wanted  to  find  out 
if  you  knew  about  it.     This  is  the  News  talking." 

Gilshannon  went  out  of  the  store,  whistling,  uncon- 
sciously picking  up,  where  he  had  left  it,  the  melody  he 
had  dropped.  Up  on  Railroad  Street,  the  police  station 
woke  up  suddenly  and  started  to  arrest  two  or  three  men. 
Some  hotheads  among  the  strikers  led  an  attempt  to 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  371 

prevent  the  arrests,  and  for  an  hour  the  crowd  struggled 
with  the  police  and  outwitted  them  and  in  the  end  over- 
came them.  At  the  twelve  o'clock  whistle  they  drifted 
off  to  neighboring  saloons,  leaving  a  lone  prisoner  in  the 
jail, — a  Jewish  boy  who  worked  for  Weg,  the  cheap  cloth- 
ier, and  who,  passing,  had  assisted  in  the  stone  throwing. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  Gilbert  completed  his 
writing.  He  tore  up  the  sheets  of  paper  he  had  wasted, 
threw  out  the  ashes  of  four  cigars  and  put  on  his 
coat. 

''Where  are  you  going?'*  Mrs.  Gilbert  asked  in  surprise. 

"Down  to  Prentice's." 

"Then  I'm  going  with  you,"  she  said  decisively,  and 
went  for  her  hat  and  jacket.  She  went  with  him  only 
as  far  as  the  porch,  however,  and  stood  there,  a  moment 
later,  watching  him  down  the  sunny,  peaceful  street; 
proud  of  him,  fearful  for  him,  and  with  a  jealous  sense  of 
defeat  in  her  heart  that  she  scarcely  admitted  even  to 
herself. 

"He's  going  to  see  her,"  she  said  under  her  breath, 
his  promises  and  good-natured  threats  and  ridicule  repeat- 
ing themselves  in  her  ears.     "He  didn't  want  me." 

The  stinging  air  made  the  red  blood  bound  through 
his  veins,  and  he  threw  back  his  broad  shoulders  with  a 
jerk  as  if  to  dislodge  a  burden.  Everything  was  done 
that  could  be  done.  Therefore  he  would  forget  the 
entire  matter.  All  day  he  had  held  his  thoughts  at 
leash  by  sheer  strength  of  will.  When  he  had  tried  to 
write  that  morning  he  had  found  her  face  looking  up  at 
him  from  the  paper,  across  at  him  from  the  walls,  down 
at  him  from  the  ceiling.     He  could  not  seem  to  escape 


372  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

her.  And  to-day  the  tantalizing  smile,  that  he  used  to 
doubt  and  fear,  seemed  consistently  tender.  Now  he 
must  see  her.  He  had  tired  of  his  imagination.  He 
wanted  the  reality.  He  hadn't  seen  her  since  last  night, 
and  that  was  centuries  upon  centuries  ago.  He  laughed 
at  himself  boyishly  as  he  turned  in  at  her  gate. 

"She's  not  in,"  said  the  grinning  Irish  girl.  "She's 
gone  out  with  Mr.  McNish." 

Gilbert  had  never  before  realized  how  much  he  dis- 
liked grinning  Irish  girls.  He  stared  at  her  for  a  full 
moment,  mumbled  a  word  of  thanks  and  turned  away 
down  the  long  walk.  And,  as  he  went,  his  jaw  set  deter- 
minedly, and  his  eyes,  unseeing,  stared  at  the  sidewalk 
before  him.  Even  people,  leaning  curiously  from  a  pass- 
ing car  to  look  at  him,  reminded  him  of  nothing  except 
his  ungainly  bulk,  which  often  made  him  conscious  and 
imcomfortable. 

When  he  had  done  his  errand  at  the  little  printery  he 
decided  to  go  down  to  the  shops,  and  was  half  way  to  the 
corner  before  he  remembered  his  promise.  He  stopped 
to  think  and,  listening,  he  heard  the  Fall  wind  piping  in 
the  trees  overhead.  Its  call  stirred  him.  As  he  walked 
on  he  saw,  back  of  the  corner  in  the  vacant  lot  they  had 
used  when  he  was  in  school,  the  High  School  boys  prac- 
tising football.  Impulsively  he  strode  across  to  the 
swaying  lines  that  faced  each  other,  and  the  little  group 
which  crouched  ready  for  the  ball.  He  heard  the  loud, 
high  signal,  and  he  saw  the  crouching  backs  beat  up 
against  the  opposing  line  in  vain;  and  the  signal  called 
him  as  clearly  as  it  called  the  rimner  with  the  ball.  The 
boys  cared  nothing  for  Hardy  &  Son  or  for  politics.  They 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  373 

greeted  him  with  a  cheer,  for  the  achievements  of  the 
team  he  had  captained  and  which  had  won  the  state 
championship  years  before,  was  a  mighty  chapter  in  the 
school's  history.  Five  minutes  later  the  school  team  was 
beginning  the  best  practice  game  of  its  season,  the  prac- 
tice which,  they  said  afterwards,  won  the  pennant  for 
them,  and  the  dozen  or  more  spectators  were  shouting  for 
the  giant  who,  forgetful  of  all  else,  plimged  through  its 
defenses  and  stopped  its  rushes  and  tackled  its  rimners 
who  had  evaded  the  other  players  of  the  "scrub.'*  It 
was  beginning  to  grow  dark  when  he  left  them,  his  trou- 
sers spotted  with  grass  stains,  and  one  shirt  sleeve  torn 
into  shreds.  They  gave  their  school  yell  for  him  vocifer- 
ously, and  he  laughed  and  waved  his  hand  to  them  and 
hurried  away.  His  watch  told  him  that  it  was  nearly 
six  o'clock. 

Directly  before  him  through  the  dusk  he  caught  sight 
of  Colonel  Mead  toiling  up  the  hill  as  rapidly  as  stiff, 
rheumatic  legs  would  carry  him.  Gilbert  hailed  him  and 
he  stopped  with  an  unmistakable  look  of  relief  on  his 
face. 

"Lookin'  fer  you,"  he  said  between  breaths,  as  Gilbert 
joined  him.  ''Been  down-town.  That  Gilshannon  wri- 
ter-man wuz  standin' — steps  o'  the  hotel — crowd  around 
— when  I  went  down.  Thought  he  watched  me  care- 
ful. When  I  came  back  he  steps  out  with  thet  way  of 
his,  ez  ef  he  was  dancin'  on  a  flower  bed  an'  about  to 
ask  the  Queen  o'  Sheba  to  hev  a  stroll  with  him.  He 
looks  me  square  in  the  eye,  and  he  says  loud  like,  'Mr. 
Mead,  here's  that  check  ye've  been  wantin'.'  Havin' 
been  born  day  'fore  yestiddy,  I  savveyed,  an'  told  him 


374  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

thet  I  wuz  glad  to  see  him  leadin'  a  moral  Christian  life 
at  last,  an'  come  along.  Here's  the  check.  '  Tell  J.  G. 
plans  being  made  to  do  for  him  at  Opera  House  if  he 
tries  to  speak. ' " 

"Good  business,"  cried  Gilbert  emphatically. 

The  Colonel  stared  at  him  wonderingly. 

'^That  takes  the  last  worry  off  my  head,"  Gilbert 
went  on.  "They  haven't  control  and  they  can't  get  it 
before  to-night.    We've  got  'em  on  the  run.  Colonel." 

"But,  damn  it,  boy" — the  Colonel  shook  the  paper 
vigorously  in  Gilbert's  face — "how  about  this  here  am- 
bush?" 

"When  is  an  ambush  not  an  ambush.  Colonel?  When 
you  know  about  it  before-hand,  of  course.  There  won't 
be  any  important  disturbance  at  that  meeting." 

Gilbert's  whimsical  smile  reassured  Colonel  Mead, 
though  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"I'm  comin'  after  ye  to-night,  boy,  in  the  best  carry- 
all I  can  get." 

Gilbert  laughed  good-humoredly  his  thanks  for  the 
older  man's  precaution,  as  the  Colonel  left  him  and 
started  diagonally  across  the  street. 

"Colonel,"  he  called,  when  the  veteran  was  only  a 
dark  outline  on  the  other  side  of  the  roadway,  "come  to 
the  Hardy s'  for  me  at  eight." 

The  Colonel  stopped,  hesitated,  then  waved  his  hand 
imderstandingly  and  faded  into  the  growing  darkness. 

Gilbert  found  his  mother  nervously  pacing  the  little 
front  porch. 

"There've  been  some  men  about,  laddie,"  she  said, 
her  forehead  creased  with  worry  wrinkles,  when  they 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  375 

were  within.  Gilbert  caught  her  chin  and,  stooping  over, 
he  kissed  her. 

"  I  thought  young  women  Uke  you  rather  enjoyed  that, 
mither."     And  he  laughed  away  her  objections. 

Supper  was  leisurely  and  merry,  with  Mrs.  Gilbert  in 
higher  spirits  than  usual,  and  her  son,  being  a  mere 
man,  watched  her  admiringly  and  believed  that  her 
cheerfulness  was  genuine.  The  meal  over,  Gilbert,  with 
an  awkward  affectation  of  carelessness,  closed  the  door 
into  the  hall,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  heard  alternately  for  many 
minutes  the  tinkling  of  the  telephone  bell  and  the  steady 
murmur  of  one-sided  conversations.  She  found  him  in 
the  parlor  sometime  afterwards,  smoking  and  reading 
over  his  manuscript.  Before  he  had  finished  it  the  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece  chimed  the  half  hour. 

"Do  I  look  all  right,  mither?"  he  asked,  as  they  stood 
in  the  doorway  a.  moment  or  two  later.  Mrs.  Gilbert's 
eye  wandered  proudly  over  the  massive,  ungainly  figure, 
which  no  artificial  things  such  as  clothes  could  ever  fit, 
and  the  head  with  its  protruding  jaw,  its  shaggy  eye- 
brows, broad-bridged  nose  and  shock  of  unruly  brown 
hair.     She  was  a  fighting  mother. 

"You  look  fine,  laddie,"  she  said.  "I  hope  you  beat 
them." 

She  watched  him  tramp  across  the  short  area,  where 
the  moonlight  through  the  trees  mingled  weirdly  with 
the  streaming  lines  of  flaring  gaslight.  A  shrill  whistle 
from  the  darkness  beyond  made  her  start  suddenly,  but 
she  stood  for  a  long  time  on  the  brilliant  threshold,  that 
he  might  see  her  if  he  chanced  to  look  back.  Then  she 
closed  the  door,  and  knelt  quickly  upon  the  stairs. 


376  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Once  away  from  the  house  Gilbert  hurried  with  long, 
loping  strides.  There  were  only  twenty-five  short, 
precious  minutes  before  the  Colonel  would  call  for  him, 
twenty-five  minutes  in  which  to  see  her.  He  tried  to 
comfort  himself  by  calculating  that  there  would  be  fif- 
teen hundred  seconds.  Then  the  thought  of  her  ban- 
ished everything  else  from  his  mind.  He  saw  nothing, 
heard  nothing,  forgot  everything  but  her.  When  he 
awoke  again  he  found  himself  at  the  beginning  of  her 
hedge,  where  the  night  hung  blackest  midway  between 
the  two  corner  lamps,  the  trees  obscuring  the  moon. 
Beyond  was  the  house,  a  few  dim  lights  alone  showing 
life.  With  the  goal  in  sight  he  hurried  the  faster,  and 
turned  in  at  the  narrow  gateway.  There  he  wheeled 
suddenly  at  a  footstep  behind  him.  But  nobody  ap- 
peared and  the  noise  was  not  repeated.  He  went  on  up 
the  path.  The  grinning  Irish  girl  once  more  opened  the 
door  and  peered  out. 

"I'll  see,"  she  said  and  shut  the  door  ungraciously. 
Gilbert  smiled  and  then  fidgeted  anxiously,  watching  the 
street  for  fear  the  prompt  Colonel  would  appear  to  carry 
him  away  before  he  could  see  her.  Under  the  electric 
light  below  he  saw  occasional  dark  figures  appear  and 
disappear,  and  a  belated  grocer's  wagon  drive  by  furiously. 

"Mr.  Gilbert,"  said  the  girl,  appearing  behind  him, 
"they  say  she's  out  in  the  garden  next  door.  Shall  I 
call  her  or " 

"I'll  find  her,"  he  laughed  boyishly  and,  taking  the 
three  steps  in  one,  he  swung  around  the  side  of  the  house 
toward  the  gap  in  the  hedge  he  knew  so  well.  As  he 
straightened  up  after  bending  to  pass  through  it,  he  gave 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  377 

a  quick  sigh  of  delight.  Before  him  stretched  the  gar- 
den of  his  memories,  and  across  it  lay  undisoovered  paths 
of  moonshine,  with  twigs  and  long  waving  stalks  danc- 
ing elfin-like  at  their  edges.  Far  away  the  pale  light  lay 
upon  the  old  apple  tree  Hke  a  saintly  halo,  and,  beyond, 
reached  again  the  fairyland  of  shade  and  shine,  ending 
never,  a  land  of  peace,  peopled  with  the  fancies  of  his 
boyhood,  reaching  from  him  to  the  moon  and  back. 
And  somewhere,  lost  in  its  tangled  labyrinths,  she  awaited 
him,  unknowing.  He  started  forward,  his  feet  tramp- 
ing the  well-remembered  ways  mechanically.  Twice  he 
stopped  and  Ustened,  thinking  that  he  heard  her,  and 
called  softly.  Hearing  no  answer,  he  went  on  more 
slowly,  feeling  the  spell  of  the  silence  and  peace  about 
him. 

At  last  he  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  trees.  Beyond 
was  the  little  clearing  and  the  summer-house,  and,  his 
heart  told  him  by  its  quickening  beat,  she  was  there. 
It  was  her  sanctuary  and  he  hesitated  to  disturb  her. 
As  he  stood  waiting  for  a  moment  in  the  shadow,  he  heard 
the  echoing  toll  of  the  First  Church  bell,  sounding  muffled 
and  mellow  in  the  distance.  It  was  eight  o'clock,  time 
for  the  Colonel,  and  he  had  not  seen  her.  He  groped  his 
way  in  among  the  trees,  through  which,  above,  the  moon 
pierced  with  one  broad  spot  of  light  directly  before  the 
summer-house,  and  sent  stray  beams  within  to  play  with 
the  dense  shadows.  "Oh,  Clare,"  he  called,  coming  out 
into  the  weird  brilliancy.  Beyond  in  the  shadow  some- 
thing moved  and  came  toward  him.  He  started  toward 
it.  Then,  suddenly,  he  leaped  aside  into  the  blackness 
and,  throwing  himself  erect,  braced  himself,  every  sense 


378  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


alert.  For  the  figure  that  he  saw  was  that  of  a  crouch- 
ing man.  A  footstep  crackled  at  his  left,  and  someone 
stumbled  behind  him.  The  moon  disappeared  behind 
a  cloud,  and  the  garden  of  peace  vanished. 

All  day  Clare  Hardy  had  felt  an  indefinable  sense  of 
rebuff,  in  the  midst  of  her  admiration  for  Gilbert's  refusal 
to  read  the  papers  she  had  brought  him.  When  she 
found  that  he  had  come  that  afternoon  while  she  was 
out,  her  first  impulse  was  to  go  to  him.  Perhaps  there 
was  some  new  way  in  which  she  might  help  him.  But 
her  pride  held  her  back.  She  had  taken  the  initiative 
too  often  already,  it  told  her,  and  with  a  sigh  of  discon- 
tent she  surrendered  temporarily  to  the  conventions  her 
mother  worshiped.  After  a  silent  dinner  with  Mrs. 
Hardy,  idleness  indoors  grew  too  irksome  to  be  borne,  and, 
throwing  a  coat  over  her  shoulders,  she  slipped  out  and 
through  the  gap  in  the  hedge,  into  Mr.  McNish's  ever- 
welcoming  garden,  to  be  idle  out  of  doors  and  alone. 
She,  too,  stopped  as  the  calm,  moonlit  garden  unfolded 
itself  before  her,  but  she  noticed  few  of  its  detailed 
traceries  of  beauty.  It  suggested  him  and  the  old  days 
and  Billy, — this  garden;  that  was  its  beauty  and  its  power 
to  her  and,  strangely  enough,  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 
She  was  advancing  to  one  of  her  favorite  paths  when  she 
heard  the  front  door  of  the  big  house  close  noisily,  and 
Billy's  well-known,  whistle.  Impulsively  she  answered 
it,  and,  quickly  drying  her  eyes,  she  turned  back,  along 
the  path  by  the  side  of  the  house.  At  the  corner  of  the 
porch  she  met  him,  and  they  paced  together  slowly  aroimd 
to  the  front  walk. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  379 

"I'm  in  a  gray-green  funk,"  was  Billy's  greeting.  '*I 
can't  remember  a  thing  I  want  to  say  to-night.  Every 
few  seconds  I  find  myself  saying, '  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,' 
and  the  meeting  is  for  men  only.  It's  going  to  be  an 
awful  fizzle." 

"Nonsense." 

"That's  right.  Try  to  brace  me  up.  But  I  was  never 
like  this  before.  I've  been  scared,  but  I  never  was  par- 
alyzed. Why,  I  couldn't  eat  any  dinner,  Clare.  That's 
fair  evidence,  and,  afterwards,  I  went  upstairs  and  tried 
to  make  my  speech,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  make  ges- 
tures.    It's  awful." 

Billy's  unassumed  woe  set  Clare  laughing  gayly,  for 
tears  and  mirth  were  both  near  the  surface  with  her 
that  night.  He  was  laughing  with  her  when  they  heard 
the  eight  o'clock  bell  strike  its  echoing  toll. 

"Billy,  will  you  ever  grow  up?"  They  were  under 
the  big  elm  near  the  gate.  The  moon  had  gone  under  a 
cloud  and  the  lawn  was  dark.     He  hesitated. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  leaning  toward  her, 
suddenly  grave. 

"It's  so  silly,"  she  hurried  on.  "You  know  you're 
going  to  make  the  greatest  speech  of  your  life  to-night." 

"I  might  if  you'd  say  one  word,  just  one  word,  Clare." 
He  caught  her  hand  unawares  and  she  let  him  hold  it. 

"Billy,"  she  pleaded,  her  voice  steady,  "don't  make 
it  hard  for  me  to-night  when  I  want  to  help  you." 

"I  can't  give  you  up,  Clare." 

"Yes,  you  can,  Billy,  and  you  must." 

"You're  certain?" 

"Certain." 


380  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


The  door  of  the  house  closed  quietly,  and  Mr.  McNish 
came  out  and  toward  them. 

"  I'm  sorry."  Clare's  words  came  slowly.  "  I  want  you 
to  succeed  to-night— and  always,  Billy.     You  know  that." 

"It's  Jack,"  Billy  whispered. 

She  turned  from  him  quickly  to  try  to  greet  Mr. 
McNish,  but  before  she  could  speak  Billy  came  to  her 
rescue. 

"Clare  has  been  wishing  me  success,  father,"  he  said 
quietly.  Mr.  McNish  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
curiously. 

"There  ought  to  be  no  doubt  of  the  outcome  of  the 
meeting,  then,"  he  remarked  gallantly. 

Clare  Hardy  walked  slowly  back  to  the  gap  in  the 
hedge.  The  garden  had  no  charm  for  her.  A  dull 
weight  of  regret  pulled  at  her  heart.  At  the  hedge  she 
came  suddenly  face  to  face  with  her  maid. 

"Colonel  Mead  is  looking  fer  Mr.  Gilbert,  ma'am,  an' 
'tis  a  hurry  he's  in,  too." 

"Mr.  Gilbert?    Where?" 

"Sure,  I  sint  him  out  after  you  long  ago,"  and  the 
girl  rehearsed  the  matter  in  detail.  Clare's  mind  worked 
quickly. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "Tell  Colonel  Mead  that  Mr. 
Gilbert  will  be  there  immediately." 

She  did  not  wait  to  see  the  girl  turn  back  with  the 
message.  She  started  down  into  the  garden,  calling  his 
name,  her  heart  beating  lightly.  He  had  come  again 
then.  He  was  here,  in  their  old  garden,  searching  for 
her.  The  world  was  not  such  a  helter-skelter  affair  after 
all.    She  threaded  her  way  along  rapidly,  calling  and 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  381 

listening.  On  through  the  garden,  bright  again  in  the 
moonlight,  she  went,  her  heart  growing  heavier  as  no 
answer  came.  Perhaps  he  had  come  and,  not  finding 
her,  he  had  gone  again.  She  pushed  her  way  in  among 
the  trees  about  the  summer-house.  She  stopped  short, 
her  heart  beating  wildly.  Then,  with  a  low  cry,  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  well-known  figure 
lying  in  the  broad  patch  of  light,  and  called  his  name 
again  and  again. 

The  odor  of  smoke  aroused  her  to  the  realities  of  it 
all,  and  she  turned  to  see  the  last  sparks  die  out  of  a 
crumpled  mass  of  charred  paper  on  the  ground  beside 
him.  The  sinuous  tendrils  of  smoke  curled  upward  like 
incense  until  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  background 
of  moonshine,  and  then  they  vanished  into  the  darkness. 

Hampstead  Opera  House  had  been  built  three  years 
before  by  a  company  organized  by  ex-Congressman 
Strutt  and  a  few  others.  Its  common  stock  had  been 
sold  by  popular  subscription  among  the  citizens,  and  it 
was  therefore  looked  upon  by  them  with  pride  as  a 
municipal  achievement.  The  ex-Congressman,  however, 
looked  upon  the  building  very  naturally  as  a  personal 
achievement,  since  he  was  president  of  the  company 
and  since  he  held  a  majority  of  the  preferred  stock  upon 
which  alone  dividends  were  paid.  Few  visitors  were 
allowed  to  leave  Hampstead  without  admiring  the  new 
organ  in  the  Baptist  church  or  the  handsome  Public 
Library,  but  no  one  escaped  until  the  proud  hosts  had 
led  the  way  to  the  Opera  House  by  night  or  by  day.  It 
was  Hampstead's  magnum  opits. 


382  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Hampstead  Opera  House  was  one  of  the  largest  thea- 
ters in  Connecticut,  and  never  in  its  short  history  had  it 
held  as  large  or  as  vigorous  a  crowd  as  this  which  arose 
to  cheer  and  to  jeer  the  young  candidate  for  mayor,  on 
that  memorable  Saturday  night.  Billy  McNish,  thread- 
ing his  way  among  the  party  leaders  and  privileged  guests 
on  the  stage,  stopping  now  and  then  to  shake  hands 
gracefully  with  one  and  another,  felt  a  sudden  exhilara- 
tion sweep  through  him  as  he  realized  that  this  discord- 
ant, deafening  noise  was  raised  for  him.  He  reached 
the  front  of  the  stage,  bowed  with  assumed  dignity  and 
then  gave  a  natural,  boyish  wave  of  the  hand,  a  half 
salute,  that  caught  the  assemblage  immediately.  Billy 
sat  down,  looked  squarely  at  the  mass  of  men  he  had 
feared  and  smiled  contentedly. 

They  packed  the  little  boxes  at  his  left  and  right,  and 
the  green  hangings  had  been  drawn  aside  that  all  might 
see.  Above  in  the  two  galleries  a  line  of  arms,  many  of 
them  in  shirt  sleeves,  dangled  in  various  postures  over 
the  showy  green  papier-mach^  covering,  and  above  them 
rose  terrace  after  terrace  of  bobbing  heads.  Down- 
stairs in  the  pit  the  aisles  were  obliterated,  the  standing 
room  at  the  back  was  filled,  and  even  in  the  lobby  be- 
yond, as  in  the  foyer  above,  there  was  no  end  visible  of 
the  swaying  mass. 

All  day  the  town  had  been  filled  with  rumors,  many 
of  them  wild  and  improbable,  about  this  meeting.  The 
striking  workmen  had  heard  them,  and  the  men  at  the 
benches  of  Hubbard's  huge  shops,  and  the  toiling  gang 
who  were  cutting  up  Broad  Street  and  laying  track. 
The  politicians  had  heard  them  and  the  storekeepers 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  383 

had  spread  them  and  the  street  loafers  had  enlarged 
them  imtil  all  Hampstead  was  on  tiptoe  for  some  mys- 
terious sensation.  No  wonder  the  Opera  House  was 
crowded,  and  no  wonder  the  streets  outside  were  jammed 
with  disappointed  men  and  curious  women. 

Within  they  were  all  men.  Peering  across  the  lowered 
footlights  Billy  recognized  many  faces,  a  doctor  here, 
an  old  mechanic  there,  lawyers  pushing  young  clerks, 
a  shirt-sleeved  hod  carrier  sitting  and  a  small  factory 
owner  standing  behind  him.  There  was  Mr.  Higgins  of 
Tareville  crowded  up  against  the  complacent  Mr.  Butter- 
son,  who  mopped  his  red,  apoplectic  face  with  a  huge 
handkerchief.  Mr.  Tubb  sat  in  the  center,  waving  with 
spasmodic  enthusiasm  a  small  American  flag,  and  beyond 
him,  in  a  new  check  suit  and  wearing  the  inevitable 
bird's-egg  blue  necktie,  Mr.  Lumpkin  of  the  night  lunch 
wagon  was  evidently  amusing  those  about  him  with 
original  remarks.  Beside  him  Joe  Heffler  and  Jimmy 
O'Rourke  sat  silent.  The  ''cabinet"  was  still  intact. 
Over  at  the  left  Tom  Grady  sat  scowling  in  the  midst  of 
a  group  that  seemed  organized,  and  in  which  Billy  saw 
men  whom  he  knew  were  employees  of  Hardy  &  Son. 
Sprinkled  here  and  there,  he  noticed  swarthy  foreign  faces, 
and  he  caught  the  glow  of  red  handkerchiefs.  Above  in 
the  second  gallery  loafers  whistled  shrilly,  and  the  men  in 
the  orchestra  worked  hard  to  make  "The  Star-Spangled 
Banner"  heard  above  the  hum  of  conversation  and  the 
occasional  remarks  of  loud-voiced  wits,  which  followed 
the  din  of  applause  at  Billy's  entrance. 

Turnmg,  Billy  found  Moriarty's  eye  upon  him  ques- 
tioningly.    The  little  Irishman  jerked  his  finger  toward 


384  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


two  empty  chairs  at  the  front  of  the  stage.  As  if  in  echo, 
a  loud,  organized  cry  came  from  the  left,  which  caught 
the  attention  of  everyone  in  the  house,  for  the  orchestra 
had  surrendered  temporarily  after  playing  every  national 
air  it  knew. 

"Where  is  John  Gilbert?" 

Jeers  and  cat-calls  followed  the  question. 

'Toward." 

"Scared  out." 

"Scab." 

Most  of  the  cries  came  from  the  left.  The  rest  of  the 
house  sat  silent,  but  Billy,  looking  again  at  the  thousands 
of  faces, — all,  it  seemed  to  him,  turned  in  his  direction, — 
felt  that  a  sudden  change  had  been  wrought  in  the 
assemblage.  A  moment  ago  it  had  seemed  good-humored 
and  leisurely.  Now  it  was  molded  into  an  alert,  grim 
force,  eager  for  struggle.  For  a  half  second  he  wished 
that  Clare  Hardy  might  have  heard  his  greeting  and 
Gilbert's.  Then  he  straightened  quickly  in  his  chair  as 
Judge  Morrison,  standing  by  the  speaker's  low  table, 
addressed  the  meeting  in  his  deep,  orotund  voice. 

The  crowd  listened  quietly  at  first,  and  Billy,  with  a 
feeling  of  relief  at  being  temporarily  sheltered  from  atten- 
tion, turned  now  and  then  to  watch  anxiously  the  wings 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stage.  Others  behind  him,  also, 
were  staring  in  the  same  direction.  Before  the  Judge 
had  spoken  five  minutes  Moriarty  slipped  out  unnoticed 
and  disappeared  through  the  stage  door  plainly  visible 
from  the  stage.  Gilshannon,  at  the  reporter's  table  at 
the  side,  caught  Billy's  eye  and  shook  his  head  slightly, 
while  the  Judge  helped  himself  to  the  inevitable  swallow 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  385 

of  water  in  the  middle  of  his  remarks.  The  rest  of  the 
speech  was  punctuated  with  loud  cheers  and  with  hoots 
and  wails  of  derision,  for  the  old  Judge  made  a  doleful 
and  pessimistic  plea  that  "an  industrial  condition,  or 
the  support  of  any  man,  ought  not  to  influence  a  loyal 
party  man  away  from  his  ticket."  He  finished  with  an 
open  apology  for  John  Gilbert's  connection  with  the 
campaign,  and  an  introduction  of  Billy  McNish,  in  well- 
rounded  phrases,  as  'Hhe  next  mayor  of  Hampstead." 
He  sat  down  amid  applause  that  quickly  died  away  in 
anticipation. 

As  Billy  arose  jauntily  he  was  greeted  by  the  reiter- 
ated chant  from  the  left. 

"Where  is  John  Gilbert?'' 

This  time  it  was  echoed  in  a  disjointed  cry  from  the 
top  gallery,  and  when  that  died  away,  a  group  of  young 
men  at  the  rear,  anxious  to  have  a  hand  in  the  fun, 
reiterated  it,  emphasizing  humorously  the  second  word 
and  pausing  an  instant  after  it. 

"Where  ia  John  Gilbert?" 

Billy  beamed  at  them  genially  and  waited. 

"Can't  we  have  it  once  more?"  he  said  good-naturedly 
when  they  were  quiet.  Billy's  good  humor  was  infectious 
and  the  audience  smiled. 

"And  I  was  taught  that  it  was  the  women  who  were 
inquisitive,"  he  added. 

The  smile  broadened  and  Billy,  watching  them,  knew 
that  it  was  time  for  him  to  begin. 

Never  before  had  Billy  so  completely  held  an  audience. 
Throughout  the  ten  minutes  that  he  spoke  he  did  not 
see  an  eye  turn  from  him.    Every  sense  made  keen  with 


386  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

the  exhilaration  of  it,  he  listened  with  them  to  his  speech 
and  applauded  it.  He  watched  every  movement  in  the 
vast  mass  facing  him,  read  their  thoughts  intuitively,  and 
felt  every  wave  of  emotion  that  lifted  them.  When  they 
laughed  his  whole  being  shook  with  delight.  Tears  came 
into  his  eyes  when  he  saw  tears  glisten  in  theirs.  And 
when  they  were  silent,  more  than  two  thousand,  so  that 
he  could  scarcely  hear  their  repressed  breathing,  cool 
thrills  ran  up  and  down  his  back.  And  yet,  in  the  midst 
of  his  triumph,  he  felt  the  emptiness  of  the  chairs  at  his 
right,  and,  turning  now  and  then  to  speak  to  the  boxes, 
he  flashed  a  glance  across  the  stage  at  them.  And 
always  they  were  empty. 

Suddenly  the  atmosphere  of  success  changed  in  the 
midst  of  a  sentence.  His  grip  on  the  crowd  seemed  to 
relax  rapidly.  The  defection  began  in  the  galleries  and 
spread  throughout  the  entire  hall.  The  whispering  stir 
grew  louder.  Necks  were  craned.  And  in  the  pit  many 
men  arose  and  stared  past  him.  As  he  finished  the  sen- 
tence a  hand  caught  his  arm,  and  he  turned  to  look  into 
Moriarty's  face,  pale  with  excitement.  A  low  murmur 
ran  through  the  wondering  audience,  partly  of  approval 
at  the  young  candidate's  imexpectedly  good  speech, 
partly  of  conjecture  as  to  the  cause  of  the  interruption. 
Billy  had  turned  his  back  upon  them  and  had  followed 
the  little  Irishman  to  the  wings,  without  a  word.  On 
the  stage  nearly  everyone  was  standing,  trying  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  little  group  by  the  stage  door,  but  only 
those  near  by  could  see  Clare  Hardy  and  Billy  meet  in 
the  midst  of  a  dozen  excited  men. 

When,  a  few  moments  later,  Billy  reappeared,  he  was 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  387 

followed  in  single  file  by  all  of  the  men  who  had  been  in 
the  group  in  the  wings  except  Mr.  McNish,  and  when 
they  reached  the  front  of  the  stage  they  separated  slowly 
into  a  long  line  that  stretched  behind  Billy  from  one  side 
of  the  stage  to  the  other.  The  great  audience,  impressed 
instantly  by  the  menacing  grimness  of  their  faces,  leaned 
forward  in  expectant  silence,  while  behind  them  the 
closely  packed  mass  on  the  stage  arose  to  see  and  to  listen. 
Billy  in  the  center,  the  pivot  of  the  surrounding  throng, 
stood  waiting  for  the  scraping  of  chairs  behind  him  to 
cease.  When  at  last  he  spoke,  his  voice  rang  clear  and 
defiant,  although  he  paused  between  words  as  if  for 
breath. 

"If  anyone  fails  to  hear  a  word  of  what  I  say  now  I 
want  him  to  stop  me.^'  He  paused,  and  for  some  seconds 
the  throbbing  silence  of  the  thousands,  tense,  awe-inspir- 
ing, overpowering,  filled  the  hall.  "The  bravest  man  in 
Hampstead  is  dead  or  dying."  Billy's  voice  broke,  but 
he  went  on  with  an  effort.  "For  months  he  has  been 
fighting  for  you  and  for  me  the  most  insidious,  the  most 
deadly,  the  most  unscrupulous  power  in  our  city,  fight- 
ing while  many  of  us  railed  at  him  and  called  him  coward. 
At  last  he  uncovered  them  and  to-night  he  was  to  have 
told  us  for  our  own  protection  all  he  knew.  But  they, 
these  enemies  of  his  and  of  ours,  knowing  that  no  honest 
man  in  Hampstead  would  walk  the  same  street  with 
them  if  what  John  Gilbert  knew  was  told,  have  added 
murder  to  their  list  of  crimes.  You  asked  some  time 
ago  where  John  Gilbert  was.  I  could  not  tell  you  then. 
I  can  tell  you  now.  He  started  for  this  meeting.  On 
the  way  he  was  attacked  in  the  dark  by  a  large  number 


388  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

of  men,  who  also  destroyed  the  manuscript  of  the  speech 
he  was  to  read  to  us.  Men,  you  have  called  him  a  coward. 
Two  of  the  mob  who  attacked  him  were  found  senseless 
near  him,  and  there  are  trails  of  the  blood  of  others  that 
show  how  well  he  defended  himself." 

The  speaker  paused  again,  but  from  every  part  of  the 
auditorium  came  shouts  for  him  to  go  on. 

"The  manuscript  of  his  speech  was  destroyed,  but 
there  was  another  copy  about  which  his  enemies  did  not 
know.  I  have  it  here."  Billy  lifted  a  smudged  sheaf 
of  papers  in  his  hand.  Cheers  started  on  the  stage  be- 
hind him  and  swept  out  into  the  auditorium  until  the 
great  audience  rocked  with  them,  clear,  defiant,  menacing, 
the  outcry  of  an  American  assemblage  for  fair  play. 
Over  at  the  left  Tom  Grady  sat  among  the  strikers, 
cowed  and  silent. 

"It  was  brought  to  me  from  the  printers,  to  whom  he 
took  it  that  every  home  might  read  his  story  in  plain 
print."  Billy  shouted  this  into  the  midst  of  the  clamor. 
Then  he  arranged  the  soiled  and  wrinkled  sheets  of  paper, 
and  half-a-dozen  men  closed  in  about  him  as  if  in  fear  of 
a  second  attack.  The  audience  quieted  quickly  before 
the  magic  of  the  manuscript,  and  Billy  realized,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  legal  experience,  the  existence  of  a  real 
bar  of  justice  in  a  republic  of  many  courts  of  law. 

"I  come  here  to-night,"  the  manuscript  began,  "not 
as  a  speaker  nor  as  a  politician  but  as  a  citizen,  to  state 
some  unpleasant  facts.  There  is  a  group  of  men  in  this 
city,  wealthy,  respected,  powerful.  I  shall  name  four, 
Mr.  Brett,  your  mayor,  Mr.  Merrivale,  Mr.  Strutt  and 
Mr.  Alonzo  Hubbard,  and  the  greatest  of  these  is  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  389 

last.  I  shall  prove  to  you  that  these  men  are  not  only- 
bad  citizens  but  dangerous  criminals;  that  for  their  own 
ends  they  have  robbed  the  city  and  have  bribed  weak- 
lings; that  they  have  bought  and  paid  for  a  strike  against 
Hardy  &  Son,  so  that  they  might  fleece  its  stockholders 
and  own  it  at  little  cost;  that  they  are  conspirators 
against  public  and  private  peace,  men  who  evidently 
are  not  graced  with  a  single  conscientious  scruple." 

The  stern  face  of  the  audience  scarcely  moved.  A 
quick,  convulsive  gasp  at  the  naming  of  Hampstead's 
leading  citizens  left  mouths  agape  with  amazement. 
Otherwise  the  only  stir  was  of  heads  turned  now  and 
then  toward  neighbors,  sober  or  doubting  glances,  and 
then  eyes  front  once  more,  bent  upon  the  group  at  the 
front  of  the  stage,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  young 
man  who  had  made  them  laugh  a  few  minutes  ago  and 
who  had  laughed  with  them,  and  in  whose  hands  now 
the  threatening  sheets  of  paper  trembled  and  rattled 
audibly.  Slowly  and  with  the  jerky  emphasis  of  hardly 
restrained  anger  came  concisely  the  intricate  story  of  the 
fight  for  the  shops;  how  the  ring  had  hired  Mr.  Conlin  and 
two  local  union  men;  how  the  mass  of  the  men  had  been 
imposed  upon  and  had  gone  out;  how  the  ring  had  then 
bought  the  newspapers  and  had  fooled  the  public  as  it 
had  fooled  the  men;  and  at  last  how  nearly  it  had  come 
to  obtaining  the  control  of  the  mills.  Rapidly  the 
atmosphere  in  the  close  hall  became  electric  and  fore- 
boding. 

"This  man, Conlin, your  leader,  men,  is  an  old  criminal. 
He  has  been  in  prison  three  times  to  my  knowledge.  He 
will  get  thousands  of  dollars  if  this  strike  is  successful. 


390  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


You  know  Martin  Jethro  and  Tom  Grady  as  well  as  I 
do.  They  are  getting  thirty-five  dollars  a  week  salary 
during  the  strike,  and  will  receive  a  bonus  of  one  hun- 
dred dollars  if  it  is  successful.  And  what  do  you  get? 
Higher  wages?  No.  A  union  shop?  No.  You  are  out 
of  work  while  the  strike  lasts,  and  if  it  is  successful  the 
doors  of  part  of  Hardy  &  Son  are  closed  against  you. 
You  must  sell  your  homes  and  find  work  elsewhere. 
That  is  your  reward." 

A  low  growl  of  growing  anger,  like  the  first  muttering 
of  a  coming  tempest,  ran  through  the  audience,  beginning 
at  the  left.  The  strikers  near  his  seat  reached  threaten- 
ing hands  forward  for  Grady,  but  he  was  not  there.  He 
had  slipped  from  his  seat  to  the  orchestra  box,  and  was 
even  then  lying  behind  a  pile  of  old  canvas  underneath 
the  stage.  As  the  noise  increased  Billy  raised  the  manu- 
script above  his  head  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  tumult 
ceased  into  grim  silence.  As  the  reading  continued,  how- 
ever, and  as  they  heard  the  true  history  of  the  Street 
Railway  Bill,  of  the  bribery  by  which  it  was  passed 
and  of  the  gain  that  it  meant  to  a  few  at  the  expense  of 
the  many,  red  passion  flared  across  the  multitude,  and 
thunderous  shouts  interrupted  the  speaker  again  and 
again  with  growing  rapidity  of  succession. 

The  story  of  the  reservoir  deal,  with  the  engineer's 
statement  of  the  amoimt  of  money  it  had  put  into  two 
or  three  pockets  at  the  city's  expense,  heaped  up  the 
growing  anger  until  men  sat  gritting  their  teeth  and 
clenching  their  fists  and  waiting  for  the  speaker  to  finish. 
From  where  Billy  stood  the  strained  intensity  of  the 
crowd  was  startling,  terrifying. 


THE    BALANCE   OF    POWER  391 

"  I  think  I  have  proved  what  I  set  out  to  prove.  I  ask 
you  this.  Will  you  allow  the  Hardy  shops  to  be  wrecked 
by  these  industrial  pirates?  Will  you  allow  our  city 
government  to  be  merely  an  open  window  to  these  gentle- 
men thieves?  Crime  unpunished  or  unpre vented  breeds 
greater  crime.  If  you  do  not  stop  them,  they  of  them- 
selves will  stop  at  nothing.'* 

With  the  coincidence  of  the  last  words  the  tempest 
broke.  The  entire  mass  was  on  its  feet,  talking  loudly, 
shouting  curses,  howling  suggestions;  organized  in  its 
unleashed  passion  for  vengeance,  but  without  a  united 
purpose  for  obtaining  it;  a  wild  chaos  of  swaying  bodies, 
faces  alternately  white  and  red  with  anger  and  deter- 
mination, and  glistening  with  sweat,  arms  lifted  and 
swinging.  "Tar  and  feather" — "String  'em  up" — 
"Run  'em  out."  Here  and  there  a  few  shouted  for 
order  and  tried  to  restrain  those  about  them,  but  without 
result.  In  their  midst  sat  a  man  in  a  checked  suit — 
crying  unashamed  like  a  child,  the  tears  dripping  un- 
heeded upon  his  gorgeous  bird's-egg  blue  necktie.  A 
boy  was  on  his  feet,  shaking  his  doubled  fists  in  the  air, 
and  a  man  with  gray  hair  sat,  unnaturally  pale,  staring 
at  the  platform.  On  the  stage  the  group  of  men  in  front 
were  talking  earnestly.  Suddenly  the  noise  lessened  and 
quieted,  until  even  Peter  Lumpkin's  sobs  could  be  heard 
in  the  stillness.  Billy  had  advanced  to  the  footlights 
and  again  the  magic  manuscript  was  raised  above  his 
head. 

"Gentlemen,  John  Gilbert  has  fought  a  fair  fight. 
Only  those  who  wish  to  blacken  his  name  will  finish 
that  fight  with  violence." 


392  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

Billy  paused  a  second.  Then  he  signaled  to  the  leader 
of  the  orchestra  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  started 
down  through  the  lane  that  the  people  on  the  stage  made 
for  him  to  the  stage  door.  The  orchestra  struck  up  a 
popular  march,  and  the  foreheads  of  the  cornetist  and  the 
trombone-player  grew  red  with  effort.  Slowly  the  great 
crowd  turned  and  slowly  it  filed  out.  Again  there  were 
loud  cries  and  angry  threats,  but  they  were  fewer  and 
less  vigorous.  Billy's  closing  sentence,  while  it  had  only 
strengthened  their  anger,  had  brought  back  suddenly 
their  inbred  Connecticut  respect  for  law.  Outside  many 
gathered  in  small  groups  that  grew  and  melted  into  one, 
and  at  last  moved  over  to  the  little  green,  where  Judge 
Morrison  and  others  talked  quietly  from  the  dilapidated 
grandstand.  Peter  Lumpkin  was  among  the  last  to 
leave  the  hall.  For  a  time  he  stood  on  the  steps,  and 
now  and  then  he  wiped  his  eyes  and  breathed  deep  sighs. 
Suddenly  he  was  conscious  of  a  figure  that  crept  from 
the  darkened  entrance,  behind  which  the  noises  of  clos- 
ing doors  were  audible.  It  stood  at  last  beside  him, 
peering  across  at  the  park  and  at  the  crowd  there  that 
had  left  the  street  empty. 

"What're  they  goin'  to  do  now,  Lump?"  The  voice 
was  half  fear  and  half  sneer. 

The  night  lunch  wagon  proprietor  dabbed  at  his  eyes 
carefully  and  returned  his  handkerchief  to  his  pocket. 
Then,  without  the  slightest  warning,  he  sent  his  dou})led 
fist  into  the  man's  face  and  threw  himself  upon  him. 
Grady  fell  back  with  an  oath,  slipped,  went  down,  then, 
pullmg  himself  free,  he  disappeared  in  an  alley.  Mr. 
Lumpkin  picked  himself  up  and  stared  down  at  the 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  393 

ruined  clothes.  Then  he  started  across  to  the  green, 
where  he  told  the  men  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  that  he 
had  "whipped"  Tom  Grady,  and  showed  his  clothes  as 
proof. 

All  that  night  the  tramp  of  men  was  heard  in  the  streets 
of  Hampstead.  People  indoors  heard  it  and  wondered, 
and,  peering  out,  saw  shadowy  figures  pass  silently  by. 
Women, — wives  and  mothers, — sat  up  waiting  for  their 
men  and  at  last  slept  restlessly  from  sheer  weariness. 
Others,  less  fortimate,  cried  themselves  to  sleep  with 
shame  at  the  dishonor  which  had  come  to  them  and  to 
their  children,  or  sat  lonely  behind  drawn  shades  and 
heard  the  sound  of  many  voices  outside  and  the  beat 
of  footsteps,  at  once  a  guard  and  a  menace.  Molly 
Jethro,  sitting  dry-eyed  beside  a  cot  in  jail  on  Railroad 
Street  where  her  husband  had  been  brought  from  Mr. 
McNish's  garden,  prayed  for  John  Gilbert  and  for  those 
who  sat  wretchedly  waiting  with  drawn  faces  in  the 
great  stone  house  on  the  hill. 

No  one  slept  on  Broad  Street  that  night.  Before  mid- 
night three  or  four  hundred  stern-faced  men,  with  a  gray- 
haired  young  man  in  the  lead,  marched  into  the  thorough- 
fare. The  workmen  toiling  imder  the  torches  looked 
into  their  faces  and  heard  their  commands  and  dropped 
pick  and  shovel  and  hammer.  The  three  or  four  hundred 
men  took  their  places.  A  team  appeared,  loaded  with 
Jimmy  O'Rourke's  barrels,  and  soon  a  great  bonfi|;e  lit 
the  entire  length  of  street,  where  mechanics  and  store- 
keepers and  doctors  in  their  shirt  sleeves  pulled  up  ties 
and  rails  and  filled  in,  from  end  to  end,  the  lane  which 
the  workmen  had  made.    And  all  the  while  Peter  Lump- 


394  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

kin,  his  shovel  beating  time,  shouted  songs  in  his  mega- 
phonic  baritone,  and  the  crowd  joined  in  on  chorus  after 
chorus.  At  last  Peter  started  a  tune  in  which  nobody- 
joined.  He  stopped  work  and  everybody  listened.  He 
finished  it  full  voice: 

*•  For  I  count  it  one  of  the  wisest  things 
To  drive  dull  care  away." 

Then,  to  the  surprise  of  everyone  except  Joe  Heffler 
and  Jimmy  O'Rourke,  Mr.  Lumpkin  sat  down  on  the 
curbstone  and  cried  again  like  a  child.  At  dawn  there 
was  no  trace  of  the  Broad  Street  extension  of  the  street 
railway  except  the  uneven  ridge  that  ran  through  the 
middle  of  the  street. 

The  peaceful  sunUght  of  a  New  England  Sunday  dawn 
seemed  to  rest  benignly  upon  the  windows  of  John  Gil- 
bert's boyhood  room.  Sometime  later  a  girl  emerged 
from  the  side  door,  and  the  sun  lighted  a  wan  smile  upon 
her  lips  as  she  heard  a  low,  muffled  cheer  from  the  groups 
of  men  upon  the  lawn  in  front.  Then  she  disappeared 
through  a  gap  in  the  hedge  that  led  to  a  silent  house 
beyond. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THANKSGIVING   DAY 

JOHN  GILBERT,  sitting  in  an  easy  chair,  started 
suddenly  and  leaned  forward.  The  merry  ripple 
of  girlish  laughter  was  not  repeated,  and  he  sank 
back  disconsolately.  It  had  been  like  this  for  weeks. 
In  the  first  moments  of  returning  consciousness  on  that 
Sunday  morning  that  seemed  years  ago,  he  thought  that 
he  had  seen  bending  over  him  a  woman's  face  that  he 
knew.  It  had  disappeared  and  he  had  tried  to  live  that 
he  might  see  it  again.  Later,  as  the  fragments  of  his 
broken  memory  came  back  to  him,  they  seemed  to  knit 
together  about  a  girlish  figure  sitting  beside  him  in  a 
carriage,  or  standing  before  him  in  a  parlor  which  seemed 
so  familiar  that  at  times  he  almost  knew  where  it  was 
and  then  lost  it  suddenly  in  a  blank  of  exhaustion.  Then, 
as  the  whole  structure  of  the  past  gradually  built  itself 
up  imtil  he  could  look  at  it  steadily, — until  he  knew  that 
it  was  no  longer  a  mirage,  that  might  tumble  into  the 
dark  cloud  of  forgetting  which  had  hovered  behind  it, — 
he  heard  sometimes  the  beat  of  a  footstep  that  made  his 
pulse  throb  faster;  he  could  hear  it  come  to  the  door 
and  stop,  and  his  mother  would  tiptoe  away  from  him, 
and  he  would  hear  whispers  and  then  the  footstep  again, 
going  away,  going  away  until  it  faded  at  last  into  a  mere 
pulse-beat.     Only  yesterday  he  had  heard  a  voice  that 

395 


396  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

he  was  sure  was  hers — there  was  no  other  voice  like 
hers  in  the  world — and  he  had  limped  to  the  window,  for 
it  seemed  to  come  from  without,  and  he  had  stared  dis- 
appointedly at  the  empty  garden.  And  now  the  ripple 
of  her  laughter,  that  broke  into  a  cascade  of  melody 
at  the  end — from  below  stairs  it  sounded,  and  he  was 
forbidden  to  go  down  until  dinner  time.  He  sighed 
deeply  and  listened,  for  once  more  it  came  echoing  back 
to  him,  dull  and  muffled  now  and  going  away  mockingly. 

They  had  told  him  gradually  what  had  happened 
after  that  last  shattering  blow  felled  him  at  the  steps  of 
the  old  summer-house.  They  had  told  him  how  she 
called  Mrs.  Ruggles,  Mr.  McNish^s  housekeeper,  and  a 
nearby  doctor;  and  how,  when  they  followed  her  to  the 
spot  with  others  to  help  them,  she  turned  away  resolutely 
and  left  them;  how  she  brought  Mrs.  Gilbert  and  how 
she  drove  the  automobile  at  reckless  speed  to  Prentice's 
printery  and  from  there  to  the  Opera  House,  in  time  to 
make  the  meeting  an  even  mightier  power  than  he  could 
have  made  it.  They  had  not  told  him  that,  when  Mr. 
McNish  brought  her  up  West  Hill  again  that  night,  she 
sobbed  hysterically  against  that  kindly  gentleman's 
shoulder,  repeating  again  and  again — "I  didn't  want  to 
leave  him.  I  didn't  want  to  leave  him.  But  it's  the 
thing  that  counts,  not  him  nor  me  nor  anybody  else. 
He  said  so." 

They  had  told  him  other  things  which  seemed  to 
interest  him  less.  Martin  Jethro  had  implicated  a  dozen 
day  laborers  at  the  mills,  most  of  them  foreigners  only 
recently  come  to  Hampstead,  as  those  who,  with  him, 
had  followed  Gilbert  into  the  old  garden.     Conlin  had 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  397 

left  town  suddenly  on  that  Saturday  night,  along  with 
four,  thoroughly  frightened,  leading  citizens,  and  the  ex- 
labor  leader  had  never  been  heard  of  again.  Jethro  had 
declared  that  Conlin  planned  the  attack  upon  Gilbert, 
but,  whether  or  not  Mr.  Hubbard  and  the  others  had 
been  a  party  to  it,  only  Conlin  could  tell  and  Conlin  had 
disappeared.  The  men  had  gone  back  to  work  at  the 
Hardy  shops  on  Monday  and,  the  following  day,  Hamp- 
stead  had  elected  Billy  McNish  mayor  by  the  largest 
majority  the  town  had  ever  known.  The  new  Common 
Council  had  revoked  the  Street  Railway  Company's  added 
franchise,  on  the  ground  that  the  promised  Broad  Street 
extension  had  not  been  completed  within  the  stated 
time.  There  had  been  some  talk  of  lawsuits  because  of 
the  interference  with  the  building  of  the  line,  but  it  had 
proved  to  be  nothing  but  talk.  Mr.  Hubbard  evidently 
desired  peace  more  than  anything  else.  There  were 
already  two  serious  charges  pending  against  him,  and 
pubUc  opinion  was  with  the  prosecuting  attorney.  It 
was  rumored  that,  after  all,  the  group  about  Mr.  Hub- 
bard had  not  lost  much,  aside  from  their  hypothetical 
profits  under  the  extended  franchise.  A  great  railroad 
company,  which  had  been  gradually  absorbing  electric 
roads  in  Connecticut,  had  bought  out  the  old  franchise, 
and  had  been  granted  the  additional  rights  on  terms 
that  were  fair  to  the  city.  Much  of  this  Gilbert  had 
listened  to  dully,  seeming  to  take  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  wouldn't  appear  against  Jethro  or  anybody 
else  if  he  could  help  it,  he  said. 

During  the  last  few  days,  with  his  returning  strength, 
he  had  fretted  considerably  about  the  shops  and  par- 


398  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

ticularly  about  the  stock.  He  had  overheard  Mr.  Mc- 
Nish  say  that  Mr.  Hubbard  was  back  in  town  again,  and 
his  presence  seemed  to  Gilbert  like  a  threat.  But  neither 
Mr.  McNish  nor  the  Colonel  nor  Billy  would  mention 
business  to  him  except  to  say  soberly,  in  answer  to  his 
repeated  questions,  that  everything  was  all  right,  and, 
jokingly,  that  they  were  getting  along  better  without 
him  than  they  could  with  him.  He  tried  to  believe  them, 
but  their  assurances  satisfied  him  less  daily.  The  rattle 
of  machinery  seemed  to  call  him  and  the  shouts  of  the 
men  at  work,  and  the  four  walls  of  his  old  room  seemed 
those  of  a  prison.  To-day,  however,  came  a  partial 
release,  for  his  head  seemed  clear  and  strong  and  he  could 
manage  the  foot  with  a  cane.  And  to-morrow,  if  the 
weather  was  right,  he  was  to  be  driven  to  the  shops.  He 
wondered  suddenly  whether,  if  he  asked  her,  she  would 
sit  beside  him  in  the  carriage. 

Mrs.  Gilbert,  coming  in  quietly,  foimd  him  propped  up 
by  his  cane  against  the  wood  of  the  side  window,  below 
which  was  the  high  hedge  and,  beyond,  the  silent  Hardy 
house.  She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  stood  for  a  few 
seconds,  hesitating  to  interrupt  him.  She  had  seen 
him  at  that  window  many  times  during  the  last  few 
days. 

"It's  a  dull  day,  laddie,  outside,"  she  said  at  last.  He 
turned  quickly  with  a  guilty  look  on  his  face.  "I  used 
to  want  a  cold,  crisp  day  for  Thanksgiving,"  she  went 
on,  "but  to-day  I  don't  seem  to  care.  There's  so  much 
to  be  thankful  for." 

Mrs.  Gilbert's  arms  were  bared  to  the  elbow,  and  the 
neck  of  her  plain  gingham  gown  was  loosened.     Her 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  399 

son,  looking  more  closely,  saw  a  fresh  red  stain  on  the 
front  of  her  waist. 

^^Mither,"  he  said  sternly,  "youVe  been  cooking." 

"Shh,"  she  cautioned,  bobbing  her  head  at  him  and 
laughing  like  a  girl.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  eat  a  Thanks- 
giving dinner,  here  in  this  house,  that  some  other  woman 
cooked?  They  were  glad  to  have  me  there  a-helping 
them  until  I  heard  Mr.  McNish  coming,  and  then  I  ran 
up  here.  But  it's  all  done  and  you  needn't  fear,  laddie, 
about  eating  any  of  the  food  on  the  table.  And  now  I'll 
put  on  a  dress  that's  seeming  for  the  great  occasion." 

Dinner  was  a  great  occasion  indeed.  They  all  came 
upstairs  and  escorted  him  down  to  the  table,  his  mother, 
Mr.  McNish,  the  Colonel  and  Billy,  and  they  settled  him 
in  his  chair  and  waited  upon  him  until  he  laughed  at 
them,  declaring  that  they  would  spoil  him. 

Mr.  McNish's  fervent  blessing — at  the  end  of  which,  to 
Billy's  undisguised  surprise  and  delight,  the  Colonel 
added  an  earnest  and  sonorous  "Amen," — was  not  for  a 
table  empty  except  of  dishes,  to  which  in  dignified  order 
would  come  a  slow  procession  of  courses  brought  by  sim- 
pering maids.  It  was  not  necessary  to  approach  this 
dinner  with  strategy,  slighting  early  opportimities  and 
holding  reserves  for  that  which  was  to  come,  only  to  be 
sorry  afterwards  for  an  undoubted  mistake;  or,  rushing 
ahead  with  dauntless  courage,  only  to  find  one's  forces 
exhausted  just  as  the  dish  one  desired  more  than  all  the 
rest  appeared.  The  good  things  were  all  before  them, 
and  a  dozen  delicious  odors  lured  them  on.  And  such  a 
dinner  as  it  was!  There  was  no  tempting  soup  to  take 
the  edge  from  their  appetites  or  from  their  anticipation. 


400  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

The  great  plates  went  around,  piled  high  with  turkey  so 
tender  that  it  seemed  ready  to  fall  apart,  and  with  potatoes 
and  squash  from  the  garden.  Then  there  were  steaming 
onions,  and  cranberry  sauce  with  just  the  right  amount 
of  sugar  to  please  five  varied  tastes,  and  celery,  crisp  and 
white,  with  occasional  roots  shining  like  polished  ivory; 
and  olives  and  radishes  with  a  dozen  other  relishes,  and 
a  mountain  of  smoking,  snowy  biscuit. 

As  the  meal  progressed  the  Colonel  gave  vent  to  his 
admiration. 

"Only  recollect  one  dinner  the  equal  o*  this,"  he 
remarked,  "an'  thet  was  a  cup  o'  hot  coffee  at  Helena, 
Montana,  after  I'd  liked  to  starve  to  death  in  a  blizzard." 

"It  is  a  good  dinner,"  Mr.  McNish  spoke  proudly. 
"To  tell  the  truth  I  didn't  think  Mrs.  Ruggles  had  it 
in  her.  She  seems  to  have  realized  the  occasion  and 
risen  to  it." 

The  Mayor  of  Hampstead  laughed  aloud  and  winked 
impudently  at  Mrs.  Gilbert.  Then  he  told  what  he  had 
seen  through  the  kitchen  window  that  morning,  while 
Mr.  McNish  stared  at  Mrs.  Gilbert  with  amazement  and 
concern,  and  she  returned  the  gaze  with  smiling  pride. 
Mrs.  Ruggles  indeed! 

After  a  time  there  was  a  short  pause,  filled  with  long 
sighs  of  contentment.  Then  came  thick  pumpkin  pies, 
and  nuts  and  oranges,  until  they  all  gave  it  up  in  despair 
and  drifted,  with  Gilbert  in  their  midst,  across  the  broad 
hall  into  the  library.  There,  when  they  had  seen  him 
reclining  comfortably  in  a  broad  Morris  chair  with  his 
back  to  the  doorway,  Mrs.  Gilbert  disappeared  and  Billy 
followed  her,  shortly  after  cigars  had  been  lit.     Once,  in 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  401 

the  half-hour  that  passed  quickly,  Gilbert  lifted  himself 
up  to  go  into  the  parlor  in  the  front  of  the  house  where 
the  piano  was,  but  the  Colonel  stopped  him  and  began  the 
story  of  his  experiences  that  had  led  to  that  dinner  which 
he  considered  the  best  he  had  ever  had.  Courtesy  alone 
would  have  held  Gilbert,  and  soon  he  had  forgotten  the 
piano  and  was  staggering  along  with  the  Colonel  through 
the  heaping  snows  of  a  Montana  blizzard.  It  was  a 
long  story  and  the  veteran,  looking  beyond  Gilbert  to 
the  door,  added  many  details  and  side  incidents  to  make 
it  longer. 

Afterwards,  Billy  reappeared  with  an  almost  suspicious 
indifference,  and  the  Colonel  turned  the  conversation  to 
him. 

"Glory,"  he  remarked,  "is  a  good  deal  like  women. 
Ye  chase  it  continuous  till  ye've  lost  all  yer  self-respect, 
an'  when  ye  catch  it  y 'ain't  got  any  more  use  fer  it." 

"More  chasing  than  catching,"  laughed  Billy,  who 
seemed  restless  and  who  watched  the  hallway  constantly. 
"What's  this.  Colonel,  reminiscence?" 

Colonel  M  ad  smiled  benevolently. 

"Lord,  uo,  I'm  jest  talkin'  gen'rilly,  like  a  collidge 
prifesser.     It  don't  actooly  mean  anythin'." 

"What  is  a  college  professor.  Colonel,  in  your  phi- 
losophy?" asked  Billy,  eager  to  keep  the  conversation 
feoing. 

"A  collidge  prifesser,"  Colonel  Mead  paused  reflectively, 
"is  a  tenderfoot,  thet  spends  some  o'  his  valooble  time 
tellin'  a  bunch  o'  boys  why  somethin'  ought  to  be  what. 
He's  wasted  a  number  o'  years  tryin'  to  guess  the  answer, 
an'  o'  course^  they  take  his  word  fei:  it.     Ef  they  don't, 


402  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

I  reckon  he  makes  'em  all  sit  up  nights  till  they  do. 
Then  he  puts  on  his  goggles  an'  he  looks  at  the  hull 
nation,  ez  ef  we  all  wore  caps  on  the  backs  of  our  heads 
an'  went  to  school  in  his  class.  'The  Phillipians  ought 
to  be  free,'  he  sez,  *an'  we  ought  to  hev  free  trade  an'  the 
labor  unions  ought  to  run  the  country.'  An'  when  some 
of  us  don't  agree  with  him,  he  jest  natch'rally  puts  a  black 
mark  down  in  his  book  an'  sez  thet  the  country  is  goin' 
to  the  dogs.  Bymby  he  gits  so  many  the'ries  twisted  in 
his  mind  thet  he  either  goes  into  the  daffy  house  er  be- 
comes what  they  call  a  Socialist — which  is  next  door  with 
a  hole  cut  in  the  wall  between." 

Billy  had  unaccountably  hurried  out  into  the  hall  in 
the  midst  of  the  Colonel's  talk.  The  mention  of  "labor 
unions"  was  a  bugle  call  to  Mr.  McNish  to  mount  his 
hobby  horse  and  fight,  but  he  was  interrupted. 

"Jack,"  called  Billy  from  the  front  door.  "Someone 
here  wants  to  see  you." 

Mr.  McNish  broke  off  short  and  caught  one  of  Gilbert's 
arms;  the  Colonel  seized  the  other  and,  before  he  could 
cry  a  protest,  they  were  leading  him  out  into  the  hall, 
where  Billy  was  awaiting  them,  and  on  to  the  porch, 
where  Gilbert  hung  back  suddenly  and  looked  plaintively 
from  one  to  the  other,  gripping  their  arms  convulsively. 

"What's  this?"  he  asked,  dazed,  as  they  beamed  back 
at  him  and  urged  him  forward.  Then  he  heard  his  name 
called  and  he  heard,  as  well,  a  low  murmur  that  grew  into 
the  loudest  cheers  that  had  ever  been  heard  in  Hamp- 
stead,  and  something  seized  his  throat,  and  he  swallowed 
with  difficulty  and  tried  to  smile. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  entire  town  was  there.     Before  him 


THE    BALANCE   OF    POWER  403 

they  filled  the  broad  lawn  and  walks,  and  overflowed  into 
the  street,  choking  it  so  tightly  that  every  stray  team 
that  tried  to  pass  was  added  to  the  waiting  crowd.  Half- 
a-dozen  street  cars  stood  in  their  midst,  and  groups  of 
the  more  venturesome  had  climbed  to  the  roofs,  while 
others  helped  the  road  employees  stamp  resounding 
strokes  upon  the  car  gong,  to  add  to  the  volume  of  the 
cheering.  Down  the  street  they  reached  nearly  to  the 
corner.  They  spread  out  over  the  Hardy  lawn  next 
door  and  packed  the  front  porch,  while  small  boys  himg 
upon  the  slanting  porch  roof.  Others  had  "shinned"  up 
every  pole  or  post  in  sight,  and  clung  tightly  in  vertical 
lines,  waving  their  caps  with  conscious  pride.  When 
Gilbert  appeared  the  Hampstead  City  Band,  out  of  sight 
between  the  swaying,  shouting  people  and  the  veranda, 
struck  up  "  Hail  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes,"  and,  as  if 
in  answer,  from  the  silent  city  below  came  the  shriek  of 
the  whistle  of  Hardy  &  Son.  Pandemonium  broke  loose; 
arms  waved,  handkerchiefs  fluttered,  and  little  children, 
perched  upon  their  fathers*  shoulders,  shook  their  chubby 
hands  and  crowed  with  joy.  Mr.  McNish  and  the  Colonel, 
their  faces  red  with  exertion,  led  the  cheering  with  their 
free  hands.  Colonel  Mead  dancing  up  and  down  with 
such  careless  vigor  that  Gilbert  instinctively  moved  away 
from  him  to  save  his  sound  foot.  For  many  minutes  the 
band  blared,  the  whistle  blew,  the  gongs  rang  and  the 
hill  shook  with  the  steady  cheers,  and  many  a  sleeve  in 
the  mass  of  Hardy  &  Son  employees,  who  stood  at  the 
front,  was  brushed  shamelessly  across  wet  eyes,  while 
women  laughed  hysterically  in  their  midst.  Billy,  stand- 
ing behind  Gilbert,  shouted  ecstatically  with  the  rest. 


404  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

At  last,  when  the  band  had  surrendered  and  the  whistle 
had  stopped  and  the  cheers  grew  hoarse  and  intermittent, 
Billy  saw  Gilshannon  looking  at  him  and  smiling  cynically. 

"Great!"  he  shouted  in  the  newspaper  man's  ear. 

"They're  a  fickle  bunch,"  answered  the  reporter.  "A 
little  while  ago  they'd  howled  him  down  just  as  hard. 
Where  will  they  stand  to-morrow?    They  make  me  sick." 

Gradually  the  cheering  straggled  off  to  the  far  edges 
of  the  crowd,  where  a  few  men,  discovering  at  last  that 
they  were  shouting  alone,  stopped  and  flushed  and 
laughed  good-naturedly,  as  they  stood  on  tiptoe  and 
peered  at  the  little  group  on  the  veranda  far  away.  There 
the  Colonel  was  regaining  his  dignity  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible. He  was  nervously  sorting  papers  and  envelopes 
which  he  drew  from  his  bulging  pocket.  This  task  com- 
pleted, he  conferred  with  Mr.  McNish  over  Gilbert's  shoul- 
der. Then,  stepping  away  from  them,  he  faced  Gilbert 
and  began  to  speak  in  a  voice  that  was  frayed  to  a  mere 
whisper  with  shouting.  He  told  Gilbert  all  that  they 
had  been  keeping  from  him  during  his  convalescence; 
how  Hardy  &  Son  had  been  reorganized;  how  Mr.  Hub- 
bard and  his  three  associates,  wishing  to  make  their 
peace  with  the  people  of  Hampstead — since  each  of  them 
had  large  properties  in  the  city  which  must  be  operated 
— had,  after  correspondence  and  conferences,  offered  their 
Hardy  stock  for  sale;  how  the  citizens  of  Hampstead  had 
subscribed  for  all  the  stock  which  the  surplus  would  not 
buy;  how  the  new  stockholders  had  held  a  meeting  and 
elected  a  new  board  of  directors  of  which  he  was  a  mem- 
ber; and  how  the  new  directors  had  elected  him  secretary 
and  treasurer  of  the  company. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  405 

Gilbert  threw  back  his  shoulders  quickly  at  the  last 
announcement. 

"That's  impossible,"  he  said  firmly,  although  his  voice 
trembled.     "Mr.  Hardy " 

A  hand  on  his  arm  interrupted  him,  and  he  turned  to 
look  squarely  in  the  face  of  Samuel  Hardy  himself,  pale, 
emaciated,  crouched  back  in  an  invalid's  chair.  "The 
old  man"  grinned  up  at  him  weakly,  and  their  hands 
met  and  clasped. 

"It's  all  right.  Jack.  We  had  the  directors'  meeting 
in  my  house,  and  it  was  unanimous." 

The  crowd  on  the  lawn  had  not  heard  a  word,  but  a 
deafening  din  of  applause  arose  as  they  saw  the  two 
men  meet,  and  the  people  beyond,  who  could  not  even 
see,  took  up  the  shout  good-humoredly.  Gilbert's  eyes, 
glancing  beyond  Mr.  Hardy,  saw  his  mother  turn  away 
suddenly  as  if  to  hide  something  of  which  she  was  ashamed, 
and  he  caught  a  glimpse  beyond  her  of  a  mass  of  waving 
black  hair  and  black  eyes  beneath,  wet  with  tears.  Then 
someone  came  in  between  and  he  faced  the  lawn  once 
more. 

Gilshannon,  his  cynicism  changed  temporarily  to  merry 
egotism, — the  simplest  transformation  for  cynics, — ap- 
peared on  the  steps  after  a  conference  with  the  men  at 
the  front,  and  handed  Gilbert  a  heavy  seal  ring  from  the 
men,  "a  magic  ring  that  gives  you  power  over  a  thousand 
men  and  more,  men  you're  proud  to  have  back  of  you, 
sir,  and  men  who're  proud  you  want  them."  And  with 
the  ring  in  an  envelope,  was  Gilbert's  union  card.  Gil- 
shannon  had  been  editor  of  the  News  since  the  day  after 
election,  and  he  was  as  popular   as  ever.    The  people 


406  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

cheered  him  lustily  as  he  stepped  aside,  and  his  face  had 
lost  its  cynical  smile  and  beamed  with  unrestrained 
pleasure. 

Very  few  heard  what  Gilbert  said  in  reply,  but  those 
who  did,  understood  the  earnestness  that  was  behind  his 
few  halting  words. 

"You  make  me  proud,"  he  said  slowly,  "and  I  don't 
want  to  be  proud.  I  only  want  what  I  earn,  and  I  haven't 
earned  all  this."  He  hesitated.  "It's  just  as  right,  I 
guess,  for  men  to  make  other  people  square  and  honest 
with  them,  as  it  is  for  them  to  be  square  and  honest  them- 
selves. It's  just  as  right  to  make  the  law  respect  us  as 
it  is  to  respect  the  law."  Again  he  hesitated  and  cleared 
his  throat.  "The  thing  that  has  been  done  has  been 
done.  It  was  worth  doing.  We've  got  a  new  govern- 
ment, and  a  new  mayor  who's  square."  He  caught  Billy's 
arm  and  linked  his  own  within  it.  "We've  got  a  new 
Hardy  &  Son  and  we're  all  going  to  be  square  down 
there.  This  union  card  means  a  lot  to  me.  And — just 
because  a  few  men  haven't  been  on  the  level  isn't  any 
reason  why  we  should  lose  faith  in  each  other  or  the  city 
or  the  state  or  the  coimtry.  It's  just  given  us  a  new 
start,  that's  all." 

As  he  finished  and  limped,  his  hands  outstretched,  into 
their  midst,  Billy  raised  himself  upon  his  toes  and  shouted : 
"All  for  one;  one  for  all."  The  men  near  by  took  up  the 
cry.  It  ran  down  the  long  lines  until  the  whole  army 
chanted  it,  and  it  echoed  across  the  city  below  to  the  hills 
beyond,  the  shout  of  the  united  citizens  of  Hampstead 
as  it  had  been  that  of  the  Guardsmen  of  old. 

And,  curiously  enough,  the  first  hands  that  reached 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  407 

John  Gilbert's  were  those  of  two  men  and  a  boy,  who 
stood  in  the  front  row  of  the  crowd  that  surged  toward 
him. 

" Hurrah!'*  reiterated  Peter  Lumpkin,  dancing  up  and 
down  and  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  free  hand. 

"Ye're  de  goods,"  declared  Jimmy  O'Rourke  with 
dignity. 

Joe  Heffler  said  nothing.  He  gripped  the  extended 
hand,  and  held  it  until  he  could  pass  it  on  to  that  of  the 
blonde,  smiling  girl  who  had  once  been  Gerty  Smith. 

The  band  broke  in  with  "Marching  Through  Georgia," 
and  the  crowds  began  to  disperse,  keeping  step  in  spite 
of  themselves  to  the  music.  The  waiting  cars  filled 
rapidly  and  went  clanging  noisily  down-town ;  but  many 
people  crowded  nearer  to  the  veranda,  where  ever-chang- 
ing groups  surrounded  Gilbert  and  where,  on  the  steps, 
Mr.  McNish,  his  hat  off  and  his  gray  hair  blowing  in  the 
mild  breeze,  was  singing  along  with  hundreds  of  others 
the  swinging,  stirring  chorus  that  his  comrades  had  sung 
as  they  marched  to  the  sea  forty  years  before.  And 
many,  far  down  the  street,  stopped  and  listened  and 
joined  in,  in  detached  groups,  or  sang  it  alone  under  their 
breath  and  felt  an  added  lift  at  their  hearts. 

About  Gilbert  they  were  struggling  to  reach  and  shake 
his  hand. 

"We'll  sind  ye  to  Congress  next  year,"  cried  little 
Moriarty,  with  what  the  Register  characterized  next  day 
as  "Napoleonic  calm  in  the  midst  of  the  tempestuous 
excitement." 

"No,  you  won't,"  retorted  Gilbert.  "I'm  going  to 
stay  right  here.     It's  home  and  it's  good  enough  for  me." 


408  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"Mister  Gilbert,"  old  Michael  was  puffing  noisily,  after 
having  pushed  his  way  to  the  front,  "Oi've  gave  up 
socialism.     Sure,  Oi'm  a  Gilbertist  now." 

The  band  picked  up  its  instruments  and  scattered  down 
the  lawn,  happy  in  its  new  imiforms  and  in  the  awed 
gaze  of  the  bystanders.  Slowly  those  who  remained 
about  Gilbert  followed  them,  Mr.  Butterson  and  Mr. 
Tubb,  the  bitter  rivals  in  groceries,  going  off  arm  in  arm, 
and  Judge  Morrison  with  Mr.  Neely,  who  had  come  to 
look  upon  himself  as  a  hero  who  had  helped  the  cause 
by  his  confession.  From  far  down  the  street  Mr.  Lump- 
kin's megaphonic  voice  could  still  be  heard  chanting  the 
chorus  of  "Marching  Through  Georgia." 

Gilbert,  suddenly  realizing  that  he  was  tired,  found 
Billy  waiting  at  his  elbow. 

"I  just  saw  somebody  go  out  into  the  garden.  Jack," 
he  said  quietly,  "  Somebody  who  planned  nearly  every- 
thing that  happened  to-day." 

The  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  steadily. 

"  I'd  go  out  there,"  Billy  added  slowly,  with  a  quaint 
smile,  "if  I  were  you." 

Gilbert  put  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  and 
together  they  went  up  the  steps. 

"All  right,  Billy,"  was  all  Gilbert  said,  but  Billy  was 
satisfied. 

Within,  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Gilbert,  still  aglow  with 
the  success  of  their  surprise  party,  were  hushed  suddenly 
as  they  watched  him  limp  past  them.  His  eyes,  fixed 
straight  ahead,  did  not  see  them  as  they  sat  in  the 
comer. 

"And  I  always  thought  he  had  it  in  him  to  be  a  pro- 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  409 

fessor  or  a  doctor  or  something  like  that/'  said  his  mother, 
thoughtfully. 

"Tain't  what  a  man's  got  in  hisself  that  counts,  it's 
what  he  gits  out  o'  hisself.  Ye  see,  ma'am,  he's  got  the 
perseverance  of  a  puppy  at  a  root." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  nodded. 

"That's  the  Scotch  in  him,"  she  remarked  proudly. 
"'It's  well  for  a  Scotchman  to  be  right,'  my  mother 
used  to  say,  'for  if  he's  wrong  he's  ever  and  eternally 
wrong. ' " 

"Thar's  a  lot  o'  things  thet  ain't  right  in  this  coun- 
try," nodded  the  Colonel  soberly,  "but  it  ain't  the'ries 
thet're  goin'  to  make  'em  right.  It's  men  with  level 
heads  Uke  his,  an'  level  consciences  Uke  his.  An'  one 
man  like  him  does  more  good'n  the  long  run,  than  a 
dozen  the'ries  does  harm." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  low  bench  under  the  old  apple 
tree  when  she  heard  the  crunch  of  his  cane  in  the  late 
afternoon  silence.  She  saw  him,  the  next  instant,  emerge 
from  behind  the  bushes  and  come  laboriously  down  the 
pathway  toward  her.  Pulling  her  long  coat  about  her, 
she  rose  to  her  feet  quickly,  suddenly  breathless  and 
feeling  an  instinctive  desire  to  run  away.  He  had  seen 
her,  however,  and  he  was  hurrying  pitifully.  A  great 
wave  of  tenderness  swept  her  heart  as  she  stood  still, 
watching  him;  him,  her  great  man  among  men,  the  mas- 
ter of  her  world,  stumping  along  with  a  cane,  his  clothes 
hanging  loose  on  the  great  frame  which  illness  had  left 
gaunt  and  spare.  Instinctively  she  looked  for  the  scar, 
and  she  saw  the  jagged  red  line  of  it  across  the  broad 


410  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

forehead.  She  started  impetuously  to  meet  him,  and 
then,  remembering,  she  faltered  and  waited. 

"IVe  found  you  at  last,'^  he  cried,  coming  up  before 
her.  She  nodded,  smiling,  for  she  could  think  of  nothing 
to  say.  The  bright  light  in  his  eyes  warned  her  of  impend- 
ing happiness  and  she  trembled.  A  sudden  ecstasy  of 
fear  flashed  over  her.  Always  before  he  had  been  calm, 
quiet,  a  force  imder  strong  control.  Now  he  had  thrown 
off  his  bonds,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  the  throb  of  his 
unrestrained  passion,  that,  magnet-like,  drew  her  as  she 
never  had  been  drawn  before. 

"  I've  found  you  at  last.  Where  have  you  been,  Clare 
Hardy?  IVe  caught  glimpses  of  you.  IVe  heard  you. 
IVe  reached  out  for  you  in  the  dark,  but  you  were  never 
there.  Did  you  think  that  I  could  get  along  without 
you?  I  can't.  IVe  tried  and  I  can't.  It's  too  strong 
for  me.  No,"  he  cried  in  quick  command,  for  she  turned 
and  hid  her  face  from  him. 

He  caught  one  of  her  arms  and  then,  throwing  his 
cane  away,  the  other,  and  made  her  face  him.  "You 
can't  run  away  again,"  he  said  fiercely. 

For  a  second  they  stood  so.  Then  the  old  tantalizing 
smile  glinted  up  at  him  through  tears. 

"I  don't  believe— I  want  to  rim  away.  Jack." 

And  then  the  wonderful  thing  happened.  The  grizzled 
old  apple  tree  seemed  to  wait  in  awed  silence,  listening, 
watching.  Then  it  laughed  above  them  in  the  breeze, 
and  laughed  again  for  joy  of  what  it  had  seen  and  heard. 
Soon  it  was  quiet  again  as  they  moved  to  the  bench, 
the  man  leaning  on  her  arm  for  the  support  she  begged 
to  give. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  411 

"Why  did  you  run  away  at  all,  Clare?" 

"A  woman's  pride,  dear,  that's  all.  I  wanted  you 
to  come  to  me — and  you  came." 

"And  if  I  hadn't?" 

"But  you  did." 

This  was  uncontrovertible  and  he  kissed  her  again 
tenderly,  entirely  content. 

"Is  it  all  real,  Clare?    Is  it  all  real?" 

"I  was  just  wondering  myself." 

"Do  you  know,  sometimes  when  I  was  off  my  head 
back  there  a  month  ago,  before  the  world  began,  I'd 
remember  you  for  a  while  and  then  there  wouldn't  be 
any  you  at  all.     It  was  awful." 

"You'll  never  forget  me  again,  Jack?" 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  they  sat,  leaning  forward, 
peering  together  into  the  glad  world. 

"And  it  isn't  Billy  after  all." 

"I  think  it  was  always  you,  dear." 

"He  told  me  you  were  here." 

"Dear  Billy." 

"Good  old  Billy." 

"Did  you  think  of  me.  Jack,  to-day,  out  there?  I 
was  very  proud  and  a  little  afraid.  You  seemed  to 
belong  to  all  of  them  and  I  wanted  you  all  to  myself." 

"But  you  planned  it  all." 

"Billy  and  I." 

And  suddenly  they  both  saw  before  them  on  the 
shriveled  grass  the  shadows  of  three  children  playing, 
and  they  were  both  silent. 

"And  your  father?"  he  said  at  last.     "What  will  he 


412  THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  what  he  said  yesterday. 
I  kissed  him  for  it  afterwards." 

Sometime  later  she  left  him  to  find  his  cane.  When 
she  returned  there  was  a  sober  look  on  his  face. 

He  had  taken  a  torn  strip  of  something  from  his  pocket, 
something  blue  and  worn  and  soiled. 

"Why  did  you  write  this,  Clare?"  he  asked.  "I  car- 
ried the  whole  thing  home  that  night.  And  then,  after- 
wards, I  tore  this  off  and  I've  carried  it  ever  since." 

She  took  the  piece  of  the  old  blotter  from  his  hand 
and  read  her  own  words. 

"Do  you  remember.  Jack,"  she  said  softly,  "how 
you  told  me  once  that  father  held  the  balance  of  power? 
He  didn't.  You  held  it  all  the  time,  the  real  balance  of 
power.     You  held  it  with  me  and  you " 

She  never  finished,  for  his  arms  were  around  her,  crush- 
ing her  to  him,  and  his  lips  pressed  tightly  upon  hers. 

"Such  power,"  she  whispered  when  her  lips  were  free, 
her  head  sunk  upon  his  shoulder.  "Such  wonderful, — 
sweet, — maddening  power.  Oh,  Jack,"  she  sobbed  against 
his  coat. 

Slowly  they  walked  down  the  darkening  paths,  and 
the  dim  light  dazzled  their  eyes  with  its  brilliancy  and 
the  bare  boughs  seemed  to  bloom  about  them. 

"God's  bigger  out  here,"  she  said  reverently,  and  he 
remembered,  as  he  looked  at  the  great  house  where  a 
few  lights  were  already  glimmering.  And  his  mother, 
sitting  quietly  m  the  old  library  with  the  Colonel  and 
Mr.  McNish,  remembered  too,  with  that  inward  peace 
of  those  who,  believing  that  all  things  mean  good,  see 
beyond  the  narrowing  years. 


THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER  413 

"Where's  Billy?"  cried  Gilbert,  bursting  in  upon  them. 

But  Billy  at  that  moment  stood  on  the  road  to  Tare- 
ville,  watching  the  fading  light  in  the  west. 

'**  Bless  your  souls/  I'll  say  to  them,"  he  assured  him- 
self, smiling  as  he  meant  to  smile  when  he  should  meet 
them.  "'I'll  take  care  of  you  both.'  Perhaps,"  he 
added,  staring  down  the  deserted  road,  "my  confounded 
trick  of  play-acting  is  of  some  use  after  all." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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NOV  74  1965  85 


RECD 


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